The Endless In-Between
by amazingpanemmemories
Summary: In 2007, Primrose Everdeen vanished without a trace. Since then, her sister Katniss has put her own life on hold, stuck in a rut and unable to move on without knowing what happened to Prim. But with the help of first year detective Peeta Mellark, Katniss may discover more than just the answers to her sister's disappearance. Modern Everlark AU inspired by The Lovely Bones.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **

**Thank you for reading! We'd also like to thank angylinni for setting the three of us up to write each other's stories in the Hunger Games Spring Fling. That's how we initially connected and ultimately decided to write together.**

**This is a multi-author collaboration. Each chapter will be written from one character's POV, and each character is written by a different author, as follows:**

**Prim: so-amazing-here**

**Katniss: madefrommemories**

**Peeta: panem**

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**Disclaimer: We do not own The Hunger Games or The Lovely Bones. We're doing this purely for fun.**

**Thanks to our fantastic beta sunfishdunes, as well as our awesome pre-readers desertginger and jennagill.**

**Please review to let us know what you think! And come follow us on tumblr at madefrommemoriesff, loveforpanem, and soamazinghere. **

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Chapter 1: Primrose

*****(trigger warning for non-graphic depiction of rape and murder)*****

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My name is Primrose, like the flower. Last name, Everdeen. I was 14 years old when I was murdered on June 14, 2007.

Even though my life was short, I still spent thousands of days among the living. I could probably tell you hundreds of happy, or sad, or funny stories from my life. But in the end, no one really remembers those stories. All those thousands of days are overshadowed by one: the day I died.

So let's get that story out of the way first.

The day of my untimely death was actually just like any other. When I look back, I'm always surprised by how ordinary it was. In fact, it was even a _good_ day. Seriously. If not for the fact that I was murdered, it might have turned out to be one of my favorite days that summer.

I doubt anyone but me remembers the good parts of that day, though. Maybe my sister...but honestly, I'm not sure she enjoys looking back on the times when we were happy. I wish she did, but I think that remembering me brings her pain.

The story of my death is the one story that only I know, that only I can tell. Other people know bits and pieces of what happened that day, but no one else knows the whole story from start to finish. So I'm really the best one to tell it.

Here's what happened.

Just like every Thursday, my sister Katniss dropped me off at the rec center for my Girl Scout meeting in the late afternoon. "I'm going to get some groceries, but I'll be back before you get out, okay?" she reminded me, smiling and giving my blonde ponytail a gentle pull. I giggled as I opened the passenger door of her truck. It was hot and sticky outside, but with a slight breeze, it still felt better than the stifling interior of her old, non-air conditioned truck.

"Yep, I'll see you in a couple of hours!" I told her, waving as I turned to jog away. I was a few minutes late for the meeting, so I didn't look back as she drove off. I can't tell you how many times I've wished that I had. I wish I'd had a chance to memorize the little details that I had no way of knowing I was seeing for the last time: the dark green color of our dad's old truck, the little wisps of dark hair that escaped from Katniss's braid and flew around her face as she drove, how tan her skin was compared to my own.

I hurried into the rec center, smiling at the elderly woman sitting at the front desk as I made my way to the small conference room where my troop usually met. But when I reached the end of the hallway, the door was closed. A note posted on the door read, "Girl Scouts cancelled - June 14."

_Oh no_, I thought to myself, exasperated. I knew Katniss was already gone, and I was stuck. This wasn't the first time that I felt frustrated neither she nor I had cell phones. Mom and Katniss both said we couldn't afford it, and I knew they were right...but it made me feel so self-conscious sometimes. _Everyone_ I knew had a cell phone. And in a situation like this, I couldn't reach Katniss to ask her to come pick me up.

The rec center was located in the wealthier part of Panem, the little town where I lived my entire life. The nearby houses looked huge and stately, with spacious, manicured lawns separating them from the road. It was quite a difference from the tiny, somewhat dilapidated house where my family lived. I'd always wondered what the families who lived there did with all that space. We were comfortable in our house, but it was definitely cramped.

Home was miles from away from here - much further than I cared to walk in the June heat. It'd be almost two hours before Katniss returned for me. Sighing, I sat down on a bench in front of the building, dropping my chin into my hands.

After a few minutes of boredom, staring out at the mostly empty parking lot, my attention wandered to the nearby neighborhood. I'd never really had a chance to explore it before, but the tree-lined streets and well-kept yards looked inviting. _Plenty of time until Katniss gets back_, I thought to myself as I stood and strode purposefully across the blazingly hot asphalt.

The funny thing that no one has ever figured out is that I didn't make it far away from the rec center that day. Nope, my very last hour on this planet was spent in the big white house that I could see directly across the parking lot on Capitol Drive. Of course, I didn't set out that day intending to end up _inside_ it.

But I got distracted almost as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk on the other side of the parking lot. My ears perked up as I heard something, like faint whimpering. I stopped and looked around, trying to focus on the sound to locate its source. And it wasn't far away. In fact, it was just behind a tree in the front yard of the white house - a dirty, scruffy yellow cat that was limping and holding one paw gingerly in the air.

"Oh, you poor thing!" I immediately exclaimed, kneeling down and reaching my hand out to let it sniff me. After a moment's hesitation, the cat rubbed its head into my hand. I stroked it gently before picking it up to look for a collar.

Nothing. No identification whatsoever. I vividly remember looking around and trying to decide what to do next. Leaving the cat behind never even occurred to me - it was hurt and I had to do _something_ to help. Approaching the nearest house was the best idea I had at the time; obviously I had no clue it would turn out to be the worst mistake I ever made.

The street - actually, the entire neighborhood - was quiet and deserted that afternoon. I don't know if that was because it was the middle of the day on a weekday, or if it was because of the stifling heat. Either way, now I just think of that deserted street as another one of the pieces that had to align perfectly to allow my death to occur that day. If any one little thing had changed, maybe things would've been different.

I try not to dwell on those sorts of things very often, though. I can't exactly go back.

Holding the yellow cat firmly in both of my arms, I made my way towards the heavy-looking, windowless grey door on the nearby house. As I approached the door, the cat's ears flattened against its head and a low growl emanated from its throat. "Don't worry, little guy, we're going to get you better soon," I said, attempting to reassure him. I had no idea that the poor, pathetic cat was trying to help _me_ out.

I rang the doorbell and waited. I rang it again, and again. No answer. The cat was clearly getting antsy from me holding it for so long, so I decided to circle around to the back of the house to see if I could find any sign that the cat belonged there.

The backyard was surrounded by a tall wooden fence. The fence posts were spaced so closely together that nothing of the yard was visible from the outside. I hesitantly approached the gate, pausing as I reached for the latch. _Is it really a good idea to go into some stranger's yard for this cat?_ I remember thinking. _What will they think if they catch me?_ But the cat was squirming in my arms more and more violently; I knew I had to find its owner soon or it might run away.

I pushed through the gate, hearing it latch closed behind me. I walked past several windows, all with their shades drawn tightly, as I approached the back corner of the house. The cat continued struggling against my arms, hissing and trying to free its uninjured legs from my grasp. Just as I was about to round the corner towards the back of the house, the cat lunged upward at my head, freeing its front paw and tangling its sharp claws in my hair. "Ow!" I yelped, instinctively dropping the cat and pressing my hand to the side of my head.

In our scuffle, the cat had ripped away my pink hair ribbon as it fled. Without the ribbon, my hair fell haphazardly out of its neat ponytail, making it even more difficult to locate where exactly I'd been scratched. But I knew I'd been hurt badly enough, given the throbbing pain on my head and the blood that I saw on my hand as I withdrew it.

In the end, though, cat scratches were the least of my problems. Before I even truly registered what had happened, I felt two arms grab me roughly from behind, one circling my waist and the other clamping a hand over my mouth. They were holding me so tightly that I couldn't even turn around to see who it was.

In my panic, I first froze, uncertain how to react. But as I felt myself being pulled towards the back door of the house, my instincts took over. I couldn't scream, but I kicked and arched my back and threw my body from side to side - anything to try to loosen the grip this person had on me. Nothing worked. My panicked brain couldn't even form a single coherent thought to try to help me figure out what to do.

I felt so completely and utterly powerless. That poor, injured cat managed to get away from me, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't struggle hard enough to free _myself_.

My feet were dragged over the threshold of the back door, and I darted my eyes quickly back and forth. I was in a neat, clean, and surprisingly normal-looking kitchen. I kicked my legs fiercely and succeeded in loudly knocking over a metal trash can, thinking that maybe someone would help me if they could _just hear it_. But I should've known better. Of course we were alone in the house.

Abruptly my captor turned me around and I found myself pushed forward, towards a dark staircase leading down into what I assumed was a basement. The hand dropped from my mouth and I cried out instinctively, "Help me! Someone!" Just then I twisted my head sideways and saw my soon-to-be murderer for the first time. He was an older, almost grandfatherly-looking man with a full head of white hair. How could a man his age be so strong? I could barely think straight, but some part of me tried to memorize his features so that I could describe him to the police later.

He was silent as he pushed me, stumbling, to the top of the staircase. I tried to go limp, to dig my heels into the ground, to do _anything_ to stop our forward progress. Somewhere deep down I knew that if we went down those stairs, I'd never come back up. "Please, please, please," I chanted, tears finally starting to stream down my face as the realization of my situation started to hit me fully.

Somehow my own two feet took me down the staircase; maybe some part of me thought being cooperative would help? I'm not sure exactly, but I definitely have no memory of being carried down the stairs. It was so dark that I couldn't see anything, not even a tiny beam of light through a window. I didn't even notice if there _were_ any windows. It was hard enough just to remember to breathe; my heaving sobs were making speaking impossible and breathing very nearly so.

A door shut behind me. As I started to turn around, a hand on my back pushed me violently and I fell, striking my chin on something hard. The floor was solid and cold beneath me, but I didn't move. I had no idea what to do. How to even attempt to save myself. I feared what was ultimately the truth - that it was too late for me.

Pushing myself to my hands and knees, I tried to scramble away. Away from what, though? I didn't know. I could faintly make out shapes in the dark - boxes, maybe? - and thought that there might be somewhere for me to hide, or some kind of weapon I could grab. But the man grabbed my legs and jerked them out from under me, leaving me flat on my stomach once more.

"Don't!" I screamed, rolling hastily onto my back and flailing my legs wildly in a desperate attempt to strike him. But he was too fast for me, pinning me to the ground with his entire body weight.

He grabbed my face in his hands and held it in place, staring at me appraisingly. I closed my eyes and moaned. "Shhh," he said with surprising calmness. "Be quiet and this will all be over soon."

Up until this point in my life, I'd always been the kind of person who believed the best about others. I had never encountered anyone who was inherently evil, and I doubted that people like that even existed. So even though what had happened up to this point was unbelievably terrifying and cruel, I wanted to believe him. I stopped struggling, praying to myself that he was telling the truth, and that he'd let me go.

As I lay limp on the ground, the cold seeping into my body, the last things I really clearly remember were the feeling of his hands on my legs pushing up my skirt, followed by the sound of his pants unzipping. At that point, I shut down. I closed my eyes tight and balled my fists at my sides, blocking out every sound and sensation I felt from that point on.

I don't have a clear memory of the burning pain between my legs, or the anguished, animal-like cries that I couldn't stifle, or the warm tears streaming down my cheeks and running through my ears on their way to the floor. None of it. I kept my eyes shut for what felt like an eternity.

I never even _saw_ the knife.

So I didn't understand why my limbs were getting heavier and heavier, to the point that I couldn't even move them anymore. I didn't know why the dry ground beneath my head was suddenly covered in a warm and sticky fluid. Why I felt like I was choking, my mouth filled with a strange metallic taste.

But then, inexplicably, he let me go. I felt his weight remove itself from my legs, and I regained control of my limbs.

_It was over_.

I stood and ran away as fast I could.

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Unsurprisingly, a violent death makes you want to flee the earth as quickly as you possibly can. You're still running. You either won't or can't look back. You don't even know you're dead until you're far enough away to start to feel safe again, and only then do you realize what happened.

When I fled my murderer's house that summer day, I truly thought I was still alive. Since I didn't look back, I never saw that I was actually still lying on that cold floor, a huge pool of blood quickly forming beneath me, soaking my clothes and hair. But even if I'd seen the blood, I still wouldn't have been able to comprehend what happened; that's not how death works. At least not when you die how I died. I wasn't meant to stay behind and try to figure out what happened. I had to go.

Every instinct in my body urged me to move faster, to put as much distance as I could between myself and my killer. I had no clue that he wasn't chasing after me. In fact, I assumed he was.

I didn't notice that the June heat had completely dissipated when I left the house, changing into a sort of murky nothingness. I ran blindly towards the parking lot of the rec center, where I could see my dad's old truck, and where my sister sat oblivious on the ground, reading a book. I remember panicking for her safety. She had to get away. He couldn't get her, too.

"Run, Katniss!" I screamed from across the parking lot. "Run!" I repeated when I saw that she didn't move. _Why is she just sitting there?_ I thought in my confusion as I sprinted frantically.

As I approached Katniss, still agitatedly pleading with her to get up, she never even acknowledged my presence. She focused all of her attention on our dog, Lady, who'd started barking furiously when she heard me yelling. Katniss tried to calm Lady down, while at the same time looking around, perplexed, trying to figure out what was upsetting her.

I didn't slow down - I couldn't - but I reached out my hand to grab Katniss's arm as I ran by. As I touched her, she glanced up with a bewildered look on her face and seemed to say something.

I couldn't hear her though, and it seemed unimportant at the time. We couldn't talk; we had to _run_. "Come on, Katniss!" I begged her. But she didn't move. She wouldn't come with me. And I couldn't wait for her.

Katniss, my older sister and my best friend, was the last living person I would ever touch. When I reached out for her arm that day, I thought I was just trying to save her, to keep her from falling victim to the same man who'd hurt me. Now that I'm gone and I can look back with more clarity, I know my touch was much more than that. I was reaching out for my last connection to Earth.

Still, I fear that touch was a selfish act on my part. For me, it was a release, a goodbye to the person I loved more than anyone. But Katniss felt it, too. And it doesn't provide her with the same comfort it provided me. My touch haunts her and roots her to that spot, to that horrible day when her life changed forever. My sister - with her whole life ahead of her - has basically been standing still ever since.

I didn't mean to, but I took part of her with me when I left that day. And I still haven't figured out how to make her whole again.

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Since I died, I've spent a lot of time watching the people I left behind. Mostly Katniss and my mom. Their lives were the most affected by my death, and I can't help feeling guilty about what I see. Losing me was just another blow that neither of them deserved.

When I was seven years old, my dad died in an accident at the coal mine where he worked. It was the first tragedy I ever experienced, the first death of anyone I really knew. My life had been so happy and carefree up to that point; we didn't have much money, but Mom and Dad loved each other so much that our home didn't feel lacking in anything.

I was too young to really comprehend exactly how much everything changed after Dad died. All I knew was that when I reached out to my mom for comfort, to help me feel better, she suddenly wasn't there. Well, she was still _there_ in some ways - she was alive, and she still got out of bed and went to work every day - but she was doing the bare minimum that she needed to take care of her two daughters. Less than the minimum, really. That's why Katniss had to grow up so fast; her childhood essentially ended at age eleven because someone needed to take care of me and Mom.

When I look back and think about my old life, there are so many things that I wish I could change, or experiences that I regret never being able to have. But my single biggest regret is that I never thanked Katniss for everything she did for me. I'm not sure whether she even knows that I was aware of everything she did, much less how much I appreciated it and loved her for it.

By the time I died, though, we were as close as we had ever been - and as close as we ever would be - to becoming a normal, functional family again. Almost like we used to be when Dad was around. After I disappeared, my mom once more collapsed into her grief, right back into the same abyss that my dad's death had dragged her into. Katniss was forced to give up everything she'd achieved in her own life and return to the role she'd taken on when she was eleven. The lone functioning adult in an ever-shrinking household.

My sister doesn't deserve the life she's been living. I don't know anymore whether she was forced into this life or whether she chose it, but either way, she deserves so much more. The summer of my death, she had just graduated from high school and was about to leave home to go to college. She would've been the first one in our family to even _go_ to college - Mom and I were so proud. But once I was gone, she just...stopped living. She gave up her scholarship and simply walked away from all of her potential.

I get _why_ she did it, I really do. She and I had become so close over the years when we were essentially parent-less and I don't think either of us were prepared for life without the other. I never realized it when I was alive; I thought I was the one who relied on her, not the other way around. It's only since I've been away from her, unable to do anything but watch, that I started to understand how much she relied on me, too.

And Katniss was never allowed to grieve her losses: not Dad's death, and not mine either. Mom fell apart and someone had to take care of her. That someone was _always_ Katniss.

She wouldn't admit it, but her life revolves around me even to this day. You'd think after six years she'd start to let go, but that's not my sister. Her desire to find out what happened to me was an obsession in the beginning; now the fervor has faded, but the search is still woven into the routines of her life. Calling the police every week, peering intently at strangers she encounters, picking up trash off the ground if she thinks it looks like something I owned...she can't stop herself from doing these things, and she doesn't want to. I know she feels that she owes this to me, because she thinks that she could've saved me if she'd done something different that day.

She's wrong though; no one could've changed what happened. I just have no way of telling her that.

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Six years of searching and the only trace of me they've ever found is my pink hair ribbon. The one that yellow cat clawed out of my hair. The cat ran (limped, really) across streets and through yards with the ribbon caught in its paw, eventually losing it in some bushes on the opposite end of the neighborhood, far from where I was killed.

So in the end, that one clue didn't help at all. If anything, it made it easier for my killer to get away with what he'd done, because it seemed that I'd been taken much further from the rec center than I actually was. With the police's attention diverted by the false lead, they lost any chance they might've had to find me.

The police did what they could - I certainly don't blame them. They weren't incompetent or lazy, but just...caught off guard, I think. Our little town had it's share of crime, don't get me wrong, but murders were very uncommon. The officers did their best, though. They talked to everyone who lived in the neighborhood where I disappeared - they even talked to my killer - but no one emerged as a suspect. Everyone was properly horrified at what had happened. And my killer was a very convincing liar.

I've learned a few things about him in the years since I died, not that this knowledge does me any good. My killer's name is Snow. He'd been watching me for months before my death. He even knew my name. When I stumbled into his backyard that day, he couldn't believe his luck. I'd delivered myself directly to his doorstep.

When the police stopped by his house the day after my murder, he expressed just the right amount of shock and regret - _How could something like this happen in our town? What kind of monster would go after a young girl?_ - that they didn't even spend five minutes with him before moving on. They didn't know that throughout their conversation, Snow periodically reached into his pocket and ran his thumb and forefinger over the cool metal of the bird necklace - a gift from my sister - that he'd taken from my body. They didn't know that the entire time they were speaking to him, my lifeless body was lying in the garage, folded in on itself, wrapped carefully in a plastic sheet, and stuffed inside a triple layer of garbage bags.

And even if the police had suspected anything, it would've been very difficult to find the murder weapon, even just a day later. Snow was careful to thoroughly clean it, sharpen it, and replace it among the other professional-quality knives in his spotless kitchen.

If they'd gone downstairs to the basement room where I was killed, they would've been hard-pressed to notice anything out of the ordinary. Snow had taken enormous care cleaning up my blood, and then rearranging the boxes to make the room look somewhat messy and haphazard, like you might find in a storage room in anyone's basement. He couldn't clean up all the blood - I had lain on the floor for several hours after my death, blood slowly oozing out of the gaping wound in my neck - but to deal with that, he'd simply moved a heavy old refrigerator over the stain. And a year later, after the investigation into my disappearance died down, he re-finished the basement, obliterating even that last mark that I left behind.

Snow clearly knew what he was doing. It wasn't his first time.

The day after my death, after he spoke to the police on his front porch, Snow walked back inside his house and made himself a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. Then he donned a baseball cap and gloves and walked into his front yard, tending affectionately to a collection of plants running along the front walls of his house. He tilled the ground and prepared a spot for the evening primrose bush that he eventually planted two weeks after my death.

Underneath the bush, he placed one piece of my clothing - my plain white cotton panties - that he removed from my body just before I died. Everything else that I was wearing that day - my favorite lavender-flowered sundress, my white cotton bra, and my black flip-flops - were horribly blood-stained and would go with me to my grave. The panties were, ironically, my only clothing from that day that bore no signs of what had happened, since they'd been ripped off and tossed aside before the worst occurred. Snow set them aside after my death, carefully placing them in the ground beneath the primrose. It was his own little memorial to me.

The evening after he spoke to the police, Snow heaved the garbage bags containing my body into his SUV and drove to the local community college. They were busily constructing a new arena for their football team, but on this blazingly hot day, work had finished in the late morning. Snow found the perfect spot for a grave - a flat, dirt-covered expanse that had already been prepared for concrete to be poured to form the building's foundation. I'd be sealed up forever.

He was surprisingly careless - or maybe cocky? - in burying me under barely a foot of soil, even though he did his best to smooth the dirt and make the site appear just as it had before he arrived. The construction crews ignored the site for a week, focusing on other work. _One full week_ when someone could have found me. But no one did. I rested undisturbed. They poured the concrete. The arena became my final resting place.

As much as my disappearance shocked the town, as much as my absence left a hole in the lives of my friends and neighbors, eventually almost everyone's lives returned to normal. I became little more than a cautionary tale told to children, reminding them not to talk to strangers or wander off from their parents. People grew less and less interested in finding out what actually happened to me.

The investigation into my disappearance stalled within weeks. With no clues other than the pink ribbon, there was really nothing the police could do. There was nowhere else to look. Based on their knowledge of other cases like mine, they were convinced that I was already dead. Katniss believes that as well; it's the only way she could make sense of what happened. Only my mom still clings to the hope that I might be alive, since my body was never found.

Over the days and weeks following my death, things shifted slowly and inevitably towards this impasse. First, the police were searching for me, then for my body, then only for my killer. Now they don't even believe that my killer will ever be brought to justice. If he hasn't been found in six years, how will he ever be found?

Most of the detectives who worked on my case have come and gone over the years. The only reason any of them still remember me is because of Katniss. She's never given up, and she'll never let them forget.

She doesn't know how badly I wish she would, though.

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**Author's Note: We hope you enjoyed this and will stick with the story! The first Katniss and Peeta chapters will be posted later this week.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Katniss

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_June 14, 2007_

"PRIM! TURN YOUR GODDAMN MUSIC DOWN!" I yell over the sickly bubblegum pop music filtering through my sister's closed door. When there's no answer, I turn the doorknob and poke my head inside. My sister lies stretched out on her stomach on her bed, humming along to the music. Our dog Lady lifts her head to look at me from her spot at my sister's feet.

"Prim!" I yell again.

She jumps, startled, hastily shoving the pink book she'd been writing in under her pillow, but not before I see. "Oh my GOD, Katniss! Don't you know how to knock?" Lucky for her, I'm not the kind of person who gives a damn what her younger sister writes in her diary.

I roll my eyes at her. "I _did _knock, but you didn't answer. You need to turn your music down. Mom is sleeping."

Letting out an exaggerated sigh of frustration, she climbs off her bed and turns a knob on the top of her old CD player. The sound of girly pop subsides slightly, just enough that I can hear myself think again.

"Thank you," I say. "Are you ready to go for a walk?" At the word "walk", Lady's tail starts to wag frantically, thumping rhythmically against the mattress.

Prim sighs again, looking at her alarm clock on the bedside table. "Do I have to?" she whines. "Rory's supposed to call me later and I don't want to miss it!"

"The Hawthornes live down the street and we see them all the time. Lady's your dog and you need to walk her." I cross my arms over my chest. No way I'm letting her get out of walking the dog again.

"Ugh, fine! Then will you leave me alone?"

_Jesus, when did she turn into a teenager?_ "Whatever, Prim. Just hurry up, if you want to talk to Rory and be on time for Scouts tonight."

Lady follows me out of Prim's door and down the stairs to sit with barely contained excitement by the door while I pull on my shoes and hook up her leash. She looks up at me with pleading eyes, shifting eagerly from paw to paw. She lets out a pitiful whine and I roll my eyes.

"Don't look at me, it's your owner we're waiting for." I watch the stairs, willing my sister to hurry her ass up before we run out of time. "C'mon, Prim," I mutter.

Finally she comes down the stairs from her room, stomping altogether too loudly on the steps. I take a deep breath and decide not to waste my breath on scolding her, choosing instead to wait impatiently as she steps into her shoes. I hand her Lady's leash, barely managing not to comment on the ridiculous pink ribbon she's used to tie back her blonde hair into a ponytail. She looks like a teenaged Barbie doll.

We walk our regular route. It's a beautiful, warm day, and I fill my lungs with the sweet summer air. I feel my face break into a smile of it's own accord. I look across at Prim - she's almost as tall as me, now - and see that she's grinning, too, all teenage angst gone from her face and replaced with the sweetness that is purely Prim.

The ribbon in her hair isn't ridiculous anymore. Now it suits her.

We don't make it very far before we're sweating. Thank goodness there's a breeze. Prim starts to chatter - about Rory, about her school friends, about the neighbors, about her favorite teacher, Ms. Cresta. Lady trots happily along between and in front of us, tongue lolling from the side of her smiling mouth.

As we pass the convenience store, an idea strikes me. I reach out and grab Prim's arm to stop her.

"I just remembered that I need to grab something in here. Just wait out here with Lady, okay?"

The smile drops off her face. "Katniiiiiss!" she whines. "Rory's going to be calling later!"

I roll my eyes. "I won't be long, I promise."

I duck into the store, ignoring her when she shouts after me, "If you make me miss Rory..."

"You'll what?" I mutter under my breath, biting the inside of my cheek to hide my smile. Despite her newfound teenaged attitude, Prim's sweet to her very core, and everyone knows it. The worst thing she could ever do is cry at me.

When I come out with two double ice cream cones, her face splits into that sweet Prim smile again. I hand her the one from my left hand, which holds one scoop of Cookies and Cream and one scoop of Bubblegum. Her favorites.

We can't really afford to waste money on luxuries like this, but every once in a while, I splurge. It's why I got Lady for Prim after Dad died, why I spend money we don't really have on things like ice cream, even if it means buying the cheap toilet paper this week. I do it to put a smile back on Prim's face, because she's is the one person left in the world who I'm sure I love, and I can't stand to see her anything but happy.

Seeing her grin up at me, feeling a matching smile spread across my face, makes it all worth it. I would do it again without a second thought.

Prim practically skips the rest of the way home, Lady bouncing along at her side. And when she gets to the end of the cone, she feeds the last inch, ice cream and all, to the dog.

When we get home, Prim unhooks Lady and rushes straight up to her room, the cordless phone from the kitchen in hand. "Keep it short!" I call after her up the stairs. "You've got Scouts in half an hour!" Her only answer is the sound of her bedroom door shutting behind her.

Inevitably, by the time I manage to get her off the phone with Rory, we're running late. I'm in the truck, windows rolled down, hand on the shifter and ready to put it into reverse when Prim finally comes racing out the door and jumps in. We peel out of the driveway and down the street, and by some miraculous combination of my complete disregard for speed limits, the light afternoon traffic and lucky timing of the lights, I manage to make it to the rec center only a few minutes after the meeting has started. Everyone's already gone inside; the parents have all driven off to do whatever it is parents do while their daughters are at Girl Scouts.

"I'm going to get some groceries, but I'll be back before you get out, okay?" I say, giving her pony tail a tug. She laughs, unbuckling her seatbelt and jumping out. She calls her goodbye over her shoulder at me as she runs toward the center.

Shaking my head, I put the truck back in gear and head for the grocery store. My list isn't long and I'm done early, so I take them home to put them in the fridge. When I go to head back to the center, Lady is sitting by the door, blocking my exit and giving me this pitiful look. They don't call it "puppy dog eyes" for nothing.

"Fine, you spoiled mutt," I mutter, "want to come with me to get Primmy?" and she knows she's won when I grab her leash from the hook in the closet. Her tail doesn't stop wagging the whole ride to the center to pick up Prim.

We're early and the parking lot is still fairly empty. The sun is shining, so I park on the far side of the lot near a patch of grass, and sit down with my book beside the truck. Lady sprawls out on the ground beside me and I scratch her belly absently, the handle of her leash hooked loosely around my wrist.

I'm so engrossed in my book that I don't notice the time passing until it becomes glaringly obvious that none of the parents are back to pick up their kids yet, not even the ridiculously primped and manicured blonde in her fancy SUV who looks down her nose at me every time I park the beat up old truck beside her. I glance at Dad's watch on my wrist - it's old and scuffed, but as reliable as it's original owner was before he died - and now it shows me that it's 4:27; Prim is almost half an hour late and none of the other rides have showed up yet. My stomach flip-flops uncomfortably. _What the hell's going on?_

Suddenly, Lady leaps to her feet beside me; her leash is instantly tight, the leather loop at the end burning my wrist. Her head snaps left and right, looking for something, I don't know what. She lifts her nose, sniffing. I can feel the tension in her body through the leash, and then she starts barking like mad, lunging at the end of her leash.

"Lady, what the hell?" I grab onto the leash with both hands and pull her close to me, wrapping my arms around her neck, struggling in vain to calm her down. I can't see anything that would explain her sudden excitement, no cat or squirrel, no Prim. "What is it girl?" She struggles against my arms, barking all the while.

The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand up, and I feel a wash of cold down my spine. I let go of Lady, her leash slipping off my limp hand as I move shakily to my feet. A strange tingle rushes over me, settling in my arm, as if someone's cold hand is resting there. Almost of it's own accord, my hand extends outward as if someone is pulling it, and I feel my breath leave my body in a _whoosh._

"Prim?" I ask breathlessly, although I don't know why, and as suddenly as it came, the feeling is gone.

I fall to my knees in the grass and Lady returns to whine and lick my face, but I'm numb and I can barely feel her tongue against my skin. It's like she is licking someone else's face. My belly feels empty, hollow, and I feel suddenly and shockingly alone, as if something precious has been ripped away from me, never to return.

That was the day my sister disappeared.

* * *

_January 7, 2013_

"PRIM!"

I sit up in bed, my sweat soaked blankets falling down around my waist. Lady noses my hand, whining, and I reach out automatically to reassure her, even though I'm the one that could use reassuring. I draw in a shaky breath as I feel myself slowly return to the present, my body trembling with the aftershock of my dream. Blood still pours behind my eyes, ripples of the nightmare echoing forward into reality.

My throat is raw and I wonder how long I was screaming before I was able to shake myself free. I scrub a hand over my sweaty face. _That was years ago_, I tell myself. _It's not happening now_. I recite the list of details that I know to be true, a technique that one of the doctors suggested all those years ago, starting with the simplest and working toward the more complicated.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty four years old. I live on Seam Street in the town of Panem. My dog is named Lady. She used to be my sister Prim's dog. Prim disappeared nearly six years ago on June 14, 2007. She is believed to be dead._

My stomach lurches painfully. My god, was it really six years ago?

After I recovered from my experience (as I came to think of it), I ran to check inside the center, only to find the sign that Prim had no doubt seen only moments after I drove off. "Girl Scouts Cancelled - June 14." The words of that sign are burned into my mind; I need only close my eyes to see them.

I found a payphone and called the police. They were skeptical at first; things like kidnappings and murders don't happen in Panem. They tried to insist that she probably went to a friend's house, or went down the street to buy a magazine and would be back soon, but I was sure I knew differently. I screamed at them until they finally listened and sent a squad car just to shut me up.

It was no use, though. I was certain she was already dead.

By the end of the list, I've convinced myself that I'm in the now, not back all those years ago with Prim, drowning in blood. I glance at the clock beside my bed, rubbing my eyes until the blurriness clears and I can see the numbers: 8:13. Not too early.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grab the phone off my bedside table. I don't even have to look at the numbers; my hand remembers the sequence from dialing this number every single Monday morning for the past six years.

"Panem County Police Department," the drawling voice on the other end answers.

"Finnick, it's Katniss," I answer, my voice still scratchy from sleep and from screaming. I'm relieved that it's him that answers; his boss, Haymitch, is a lot more difficult to deal with, especially in the morning, what with being a smelly, surly, old drunk.

"Happy Monday, Sunshine. How'd you sleep?"

I roll my eyes, even though I know he can't see. "The way I always sleep, Finnick. Any news?"

"What, you mean, you didn't call me at" - he pauses, I assume to check the clock - "8:15 on a Monday morning just to hear my voice? I'm hurt, Katniss. Hurt. I thought after all these years we were more to each other than that."

I sigh directly into the phone so he hears. "Cut the crap, Finnick. Just tell me if there's any news about Prim's case."

The false flirty tone disappears, replaced with genuine regret. "Sorry, Katniss. Still nothing." For all his flash and flirtation, he's okay, really. I know he wishes that he had news to tell me.

When it became clear that Prim really had disappeared, the police did everything they could. Haymitch was on the case from the beginning, and Finnick joined it shortly afterwards, so I got to know them pretty well. They searched and searched, interviewed everyone who could've possibly had any involvement - even poor Rory, who wept when they talked to him. All they found was the pink ribbon from Prim's hair, miles away from the rec center. They tried. They really did.

It's just not enough.

"Okay," I answer, and the phone is halfway down to the cradle when I hear his tinny voice through the receiver yelling, "Katniss, wait!"

I bring the phone back up to my ear. "Yeah?"

"I don't have any new information that affects the case directly but I do have something to tell you," he says. I'm silent, waiting for him to go on. After an awkward pause, he continues, "There's a new guy that just started today. He's getting the grand tour from Haymitch right now."

I sigh. I don't see what this has to do with Prim. "Yeah, so?"

"So," Finnick continues, and I can almost _hear_ that megawatt smile behind his words, "he's being assigned to look at some of the older cases, to see if he can dig up anything new. Cases like Primrose's. Fresh set of eyes, and all that."

My heart leaps at the sound of her name on his lips. _They're looking at her case again... _"This new guy, is he good?"

He laughs. "Well, not as good as me, but he'll do. Seriously though, I grew up with him. He's a great guy and a good cop. He's smart. Maybe he'll be able to bring a fresh take on things. If there's anything there that we missed, I'm sure he'll find it."

"Thanks, Finnick," I say. "Keep me posted."

"I always do. Take care, Katniss."

I hang up the phone carefully, my heart thumping in my ribcage as I process this information. A new cop, a new set of eyes. Finnick sounded pretty optimistic about him. I feel a strange rush of elation. Is that hope? I'd forgotten what that felt like. Six years of hope wasted will do that to a person.

Lady whines and paws at me, jolting me out of my reverie. "Okay, okay. I'm getting up." I dress in jeans and a soft, well worn t-shirt, brushing my hair and winding it into its customary braid down my back to keep it out of my face. My bedroom door creaks when I open it and I make a mental note to pick up some oil for the hinges after payday.

I glance down the hall at my mother's closed door. She hasn't stirred, not even when I screamed in my sleep. I've had this nightmare so many times that my mom doesn't even bother to ask me if I'm okay, let alone come and check on me. Then again, she barely ever does anything anymore besides go through the motions, and keeps to her room as much as I'll let her.

There are two ghosts in the Everdeen house these days. One is the memory of my sister, haunting me in everything I do. The other is my mom.

I let Lady out in the yard to go to the bathroom and my long day starts. I have a banana for breakfast, standing at the sink while I eat, after which I wash last night's dishes, leaving them to dry in the rack on the counter. I do several loads of laundry and vacuum the house from top to bottom, except my mom's room. A microwave pizza becomes my lunch, and after eating, it's time for Lady's walk.

This is my life. Waking up from nightmares, calling the police station, taking care of the house, walking the dog, and every minute of every day, even when I'm asleep, missing my sister and wondering what happened to her.

Speaking of the dog, she's nowhere to be seen. "Lady?" I call, but she doesn't appear. I check her dog bed by the couch, under the table, at both the front and back doors. Finally, I pad up the stairs. Mom's door is still shut, but the door at the other end of the hall, the one we normally leave closed, is open a few inches. The one that used to be my sister's. I must've left the door ajar when I vacuumed earlier.

I don't have to check my bedroom. I know where the dog is.

I push open the door to Prim's room and step inside. The corner of her bright pink diary still peeks out from under the pillow and the CD that had been playing that day is still in the CD player. It's still exactly as she left it the day she disappeared, but stretched out across her bed where Prim had been sprawled that day, is Lady. "Come here," I call her softly, patting my leg. She looks forlornly at me, her dark eyes echoing all the questions I wish that I could ask, too. _Where is Prim? What happened to her? Why isn't she here?_

"C'mon, girl. Let's go for a walk." This gets Lady out of the bed and she pads softly past me out the door. I shut the door behind us, sealing up all the questions and loneliness inside the empty room.

We walk our usual route, and as always, Prim's absence feels like a knife in my stomach. There's the field where we made snow angels with Daddy when we were kids. There's the yard that we lost our ball in one day when we were playing with the Hawthornes, and Gale had to climb the fence to get it. There's the tree that blooms with lilacs in the spring that Prim loved to stop and smell.

And there's the shop that I bought her ice cream from that day, Cookies and Cream and Bubblegum. I don't go in there anymore, even though they have the best ice cream. I don't even eat ice cream anymore.

Back at home, I shower for work and dress in the black pants and white button down that are the standard dress code at the bar, then whip up a quick dinner of rotini pasta with tomato sauce out of a jar. It's nothing fancy, but it's cheap and easy.

"Mom! Dinner's ready!" I call loudly up the stairs. When she doesn't appear, I sigh and trudge up to her room. Without bothering to knock, I turn the knob and open her door. The air in her room smells stale, stagnant. She's facing away from the door, curtains drawn, her lank blonde hair spread out on the pillow.

"Mom, I made dinner. Come eat."

She opens her eyes and turns slightly to look at me. "I'm not hungry."

I take a deep breath and dig my nails into my palm, fighting the urge to scream at her. "I don't care. You have to eat." I pray that today isn't one of the days that she decides to fight me. "Get up."

Thankfully, she sits up slowly and climbs out of her bed. As she passes by me on her way out the door, her eyes flicker to mine and then down again, but not before I see the empty look in the watery blue irises.

When Dad died when I was fifteen, Mom had a really hard time. She kept her job, but only because I had to stay in school and couldn't work enough to support us. I had to take on a lot of the responsibilities, buying the groceries and cleaning the house and making sure Prim got to school and Girl Scouts on time. But when Prim was taken, my mother completely lost what little will to live she had left. She probably would've starved herself to death, but I wouldn't let her. I wasn't going to have her death on my head, too.

We sit on opposite sides of the table, not meeting each others' eyes, not speaking. The only sound in that lonely kitchen is the sound of our cutlery scraping on our bowls as we eat. When we're finished, I put the dishes in the sink for me to wash tomorrow morning. My mother, of course, does nothing, and when I let myself out of the house and lock the door behind me, I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

My dad's beat up old truck sits in the driveway. The green paint is rusting, and it's at least a couple decades out of date, but my best friend Gale and I have kept it running since our fathers died nine years ago, and I'd be willing to bet that it runs better than some new vehicles. I can't afford a new car, and I don't want one, anyway. I turn the key in the ignition and the old thing chugs to life, faithful as always.

The bar where I work is a bit of a dump, but it's a job and it pays the bills. Before Prim, I was going to be a botanist. Had a scholarship and everything. Botany was a field that was made for me. Plants don't call you "baby" or try to cop a feel or throw up on you, all things that have happened to me while working at The Hob. I didn't have a choice, though. I had to keep us alive.

But like I said, it's a job, and most nights it's not bad. The other bartenders are cool, especially Cinna, who is kind, smart and gay as the day is long. If I had time for friends, I would consider him one of them.

And some nights, like tonight, Gale comes to visit me.

As my best friend crosses the room to the bar where I'm standing, the eyes of all the women in the room watch him with interest. They don't look too discouraged when he walks right up to the bar and sits down in front of me, and why should they? With our straight dark hair and grey eyes, we look like we could be siblings. Besides, there's nothing between Gale and me except our dead dads, who perished in the same coal mine explosion. Once upon a time, maybe there could have been something, but I haven't had time for relationships since Prim died.

"Hey, Catnip," he says, resting his long forearms on the bar.

"Hey, Gale," I answer, automatically mixing him his usual Jack and Coke. He nods his thanks when I deposit it in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm meeting someone," he says, tipping his glass back to take a big swallow.

The corner of my mouth twitches. "Another one?"

"Just because you've decided to commit yourself to a life of granny panties doesn't mean the rest of us have," he shoots back at me with a grin.

I glare at him, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. "Whatever."

"Great come back, Catnip. Really top notch." His stupid grin spreads across his whole face and I have a sudden urge to splash his own drink at him, just to get rid of that dumb smile. I busy myself drying glasses to quell the urge.

"Hey, Posy wants to go skiing this weekend. Do you want to come?"

I'm shaking my head before he's even done speaking. "Can't. I have to work all weekend." I love Gale's sister Posy but I just don't have time. Or money, for that matter.

He sighs. "Really? You work every weekend. Couldn't you just come for a few hours? It would mean a lot to her, Katniss."

"You know I can't, Gale. Drop it."

His mouth hardens into a tight line. "Fine, but think about doing something with us soon. Take a night off. We miss you." He glances around and sees a tall, pretty girl with white blonde hair walking in the door. "Gotta go, Catnip. That's her." He tips his glass back and downs the rest of his drink, slapping a five on the bar between us.

"Well she looks _nice_," I mumble sarcastically, too low for him to hear as he approaches his date. I scowl at their backs as they walk away.

It's all well and good for Gale to go on dates and have a sex life and relationships, and to go skiing for the day whenever he feels like it. When I left behind my scholarship and the botany program to work at this place, Gale got to go away and become an environmental engineer. He can afford to waste his time on getting laid and dicking around while I'm working my ass off to put food on the table. And even though our dads died in the same mine accident, he doesn't really understand loss, at least not the way I do.

All of Gale's siblings are still alive.

"You here to work, or just to stare? Jealousy is very unbecoming, you know." A good humored voice interrupts my reverie. I turn around to see Cinna watching me, with one hand on his slim hip and the other brandishing a Yeungling in my direction.

"To work," I grumble, reaching out a hand for the drink. "And I'm not jealous." He jerks the bottle away from me for a minute as his eye roves up and down my body appraisingly. I cross my arms over my chest with a sigh. "What, Cinna?"

"Really outdid yourself with the ensemble tonight, didn't you?" he chirps jokingly.

I snatch the beer out of his hand as his face breaks into a grin. "This is the dress code, remember?"

He laughs. "No one pays attention to those rules and you know it. One of these days you've got to let me work my magic. Maybe if you showed your potential, let yourself shine, you could get a couple dates like your handsome friend."

I glare at him. "Whatever, Cinna. I love you but I'm not wearing a skirt to work in a bar. And you know his name is Gale." I point at the bottle I'm holding. "Can you just tell me what I'm supposed to do with this?"

Still smiling, he waves a long-fingered hand toward the back of the bar. "It's for the cute blonde guy in the booth over there."

I raise my eyebrows skeptically. "Aren't cute blonde men _your_ specialty?"

"Alas, this one's from the other side of the tracks, if you know what I mean." He shoots me a ridiculous wink. "Just take the man his drink, woman."

I roll my eyes, hiding a smile, and scoot out from behind the bar, bottle in hand. I can't tell if the guy in question is cute; he's hunched over his table, his forehead braced in his hand and eyes down cast. I don't recognize him, and I feel a familiar thrill rush through me, a warning as if of danger that I get whenever someone new comes in. Could it be him? Is _this one _finally him, the man who took Prim? It's a familiar worry, and so far its been wrong every time, but I always keep them at a distance anyway.

His hair, which is indeed blonde, is mussed as if he's been running his hands through it over and over again. He's in his own little world, and when I walk up to the table, at first he doesn't even realize I'm there.

I deposit the bottle on the table in front of him, and he finally drops his hand to look up at me. A tired but genuine smile touches his lips. "Thanks so much," he says, reaching out to take the bottle from me.

His eyes are blue like the sky was on the worst day of my life, filled with warmth, and as they meet mine, I'm transfixed, frozen. My hand shakes as I take the money he offers me. Who is this guy? What is he doing here? And why, when I look at him, am I suddenly and inexplicably reminded of my dead sister?

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favorited this story! We are blown away by the positive response we have received already and want to thank you all for your comments and feedback!**

**A big thank you as well to sunfishdunes for her awesome beta skills and to desertginger and jennagill for pre-reading! You ladies are awesome.**

** Keep an eye out for Chapter 3 which will be coming on Thursday; the first chapter from our favorite baker! Come follow us on tumblr: I'm madefrommemoriesff and my co-conspirators are soamazinghere (Prim) and loveforpanem (Peeta)!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 : Peeta

* * *

This is the second morning in a row that I've stepped out of the shower and almost slipped on the tile floor.

For most people, that would be an indicator that I need to finish unpacking or at least pull out more than the one towel I've been using for two days already. But the blissful simplicity of bachelorhood allows me such indiscretions and the ball of nervous energy in the pit of my stomach keeps me from focusing on anything other than starting my new job today.

I wipe off the foggy medicine cabinet mirror above my bathroom's only sink. This old house doesn't have an exhaust fan and I wasn't really interested in cracking a window just to have the frigid January air slap me in the face the second I step out of the shower.

The first Monday of the new year is the perfect time to start a new career and pretty much a new life. I've worked hard to get to this point, and now that it's here, I'm constantly asking myself if this is real or not. Making the decision to move from Pittsburgh to the sleepy little suburb of Panem was a relatively easy choice. I already had a friend here and my dream job was being dangled in front of me, so how could I refuse? I just don't think I realized how big of a change it would be.

For one thing, the quiet is almost deafening.

I was used to my embarrassingly small fifth floor apartment and all of the noises downtown Pittsburgh had to offer - sirens at three a.m., my upstairs neighbors arguing in a foreign language as I fell asleep, and the car alarm down the street that no one cared to turn off. These were the sounds of comfort to me, but now all I have is silence. I barely slept last night.

I lose track of time while I'm brushing my teeth, caught in the daydream of my now past life. I look down at my cell phone to check the time and curse to myself when I see I have exactly twelve minutes until I absolutely have to leave. Meaning I can pretty much forget about the cup of coffee I was going to make before I left, regardless of how proud of myself I was for actually unpacking the coffee maker last night.

After spitting out my mouth wash, I walk out of my bathroom and toss my lone towel on the bed. I pilfer through the cardboard boxes stacked around my room and grab clean boxers and an undershirt, and thank god that there isn't anyone watching me rummage through boxes of my belongings bare-ass naked.

I've lost another five minutes by the time I get my underclothes on and I pull my older brother Rye's charcoal grey suit out of the closet. The job offer and move happened so quickly, I haven't even had a chance to get ready for any of this. Wearing my brother's borrowed suits is a far cry from the black, standard issue uniform I wore everyday for almost eight years. I know this seems like such a small thing, but for someone like me, who has basically put everything on hold to pursue a career and who has become such a creature of habit, any small deviation from the life I had been leading is a huge change. I thought I would feel like I could finally breathe, that I've finally crossed the finish line. But now, I have this sinking feeling that the real race is about to begin.

My nerves are getting the better of me and it feels like it is taking forever to get dressed this morning. Once my shoes are tied, I go to grab my blazer, only to realize that I forgot to put on my holster. I slip my arms through the leather straps, secure my handgun, and drape my tie around my neck. Picking up the jacket from the bed, I run out the door, grabbing my keys along the way.

There is a light dusting of snow on the ground and I let out a deep sigh when I walk around to the driver's side of the old Crown Vic that I've been given by the Panem County Police Department. Its dated deep maroon paint and slightly dented doors are just a reminder how low on the totem pole I am at this new station. I can remember Finnick's huge shit-eating grin when he handed me the key and pointed to my assigned vehicle._ Now, don't pick up too many women in this thing, it's not professional._ He told me with his trademark smile and low taunting voice. Not that I think I'm some kind of chick magnet or even had the time for anything like that lately, but I can't really imagine the kind of woman who would drop her panties at the site of this old heap, nor do I think I'd want to.

I slide into the driver's seat and take a deep breath before cranking her up and turning on the heater. For a department vehicle, it reeks of stale body odor and alcohol-tinged vomit. I can only assume this is from witnesses being taken to the station and hopefully not from the previous driver.

The drive to the station is surprisingly short. My little rental house on Merchant Avenue is only about three miles away, so I'm relieved that even though I was running a little later than I intended, I'll still get there on time. And I know I will get there before the never punctual, Finnick Odair.

The station itself is nothing to write home about. The old stone building has probably always served as the city's only police station. My department is on the third floor and after this morning, I have decided to take the stairs from now on. The elevator creaks and moans on its slow journey up and the flickering lights and staticy muzak are a little unnerving. The elevator doors open up to pale green walls, old metal desks, and a few sectioned-off offices encased in safety glass that line the perimeter of the large room.

I walk through the maze of desks to the one that has the nameplate that reads Det. Mellark. I pick it up and slide my fingers across the cool brass plate, letting out the breath I was holding. A wave of relief passes over me, and the scared little boy inside of me finally feels safe and validated. Safe from the abusive mother who led him to this career; a career that would help traumatized children by holding their abusers accountable. Validated knowing that all the hard work, the late nights patrolling the roughest parts of Pittsburgh, the days upon days of dealing with drunks, druggies, and countless gang murderers, have all paid off.

The smell of fresh coffee breaks me from my trance and I look around the office until I spot a small kitchen area. My stomach growls the second I get to the counter and see a bright pink box with an open lid revealing a dozen doughnuts.

Cliche be damned, I fucking love doughnuts.

My family owns a bakery; in fact, it was always thought that I would take over when my father finally decided to retire. But I wanted away from my mother and decided on a different vocation. Thankfully, my oldest brother stepped in and is still working there with Dad now. My father always joked that it was his doughnuts that led me to a life of police work, but like a good son, I would bite my tongue instead of telling him it was that shrew of a wife he had who really made me pursue my job.

I shove a chocolate cake doughnut in my mouth and grab the coffee mug closest to me, filling it with coffee and cream.

Making my way back to my desk, I spot Finnick coming out of the stairwell. He flashes me a smile and puts his finger in the air signaling he'll be just a moment before gliding into the office directly behind my desk. I plop down into my chair and shove a large bite of pastry in my mouth before taking a sip, of what I quickly learn, is very strong coffee.

Finnick sits down on top of my desk and stares down at me, "Well, I see you've made yourself comfortable with Beetee's doughnuts and coffee."

I nod triumphantly.

He squints his eyes at me, "What the hell are you doing with my mug?"

I smile behind the cup when I bring it to my lips and take another slow drag of my drink. "Nah, brought it from home."

"It has my son's handprints on it and it literally says for Daddy on the bottom."

I actually look at it for the first time and see the bright blue and green handprints against white porcelain staring right at me. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You know how I have a thing for dark haired girls, and Annie is pretty hot."

Finnick snatches the mug from my hand. "You know, pretending to be my kid's dad would be funny if he didn't look like a miniature version of me." He looks down at the contents and finishes it off, "Fuck that's gross. Put some sugar in it next time."

I laugh and we both turn our heads when one of the office doors swing open and a very haggard and disheveled man in a wrinkled brown suit steps out. "Keep your goddamn voices down! I've got a fucking headache."

The man - who honestly looks like a bum I had to arrest several times back home - runs his hand through his stringy, dark hair and looks in my direction. "Who the fuck are you?"

I open my mouth to answer, but before I get a word out, Finnick jumps off my desk and walks toward the man. "Calm down Haymitch, this is Detective Peeta Mellark. I told you he was starting today."

Haymitch nods his head in understanding. "Right. Well, come on boy, I'll give you the grand tour as soon as you fetch me a cup of black coffee."

I furrow my brow in confusion. Getting coffee is my job now?

Finnick's voice turns serious. "You heard Detective Abernathy. Rookie, get your ass up and get him some coffee."

"And grab me a doughnut, too, kid," Haymitch tells me as I hop up and walk back to the kitchen.

I can hear the phone ring and see Finnick and Haymitch give each other a pointed look. I hand Haymitch his food and he takes it from me briskly. "Come on boy, let him answer that. I'll show you around."

I watch Finnick answer the phone, "Panem County Police Department." He pauses for a moment and happily replies to the person on the other line, "Happy Monday, Sunshine. How'd you sleep?"

Haymitch clears his throat, "Do you need an invitation, or can we get started now?"

I follow Haymitch out of the office as he begins his "grand tour," which consists of us walking into the hallway and turning our heads in a couple of different directions. He points out the locations of the bathrooms, the interrogation room, a small lab, and the single holding cell on this floor.

"I know it's not what you're used to, coming from the city, but we don't exactly see too much action in our department." He takes a large gulp of his drink and a huge bite of his glazed doughnut. When he speaks again, he showers me in crumbs and spit. "Oh, and give me back my fucking keys."

Now I'm really confused. "Your keys, sir?"

"Yeah, my fucking car keys. I don't know why that son of a bitch Odair thinks its so goddamn funny giving my car to the new guys."

I reach in my pocket and pull the key and remote off my key chain. I place them in his hand. "Does that mean I don't have a car, sir?"

He narrows his eyes at me, "First, stop with all of this sir bullshit. Second, yes, you do get a car. It's out back. I think it's a black Taurus. Ask Odair for the keys and don't drive my car ever again. I've had her for over 15 years and I like her better than you."

I nod, thankful to be rid of that disgusting vehicle. I follow Haymitch back to the office while the realization of why that car smelled like it did hits me - my new boss is a drunk.

We pass by Finnick's office when I hear him call out, "Hey Peeta, come in here."

I look over at Haymitch as he continues to walk away from me, mumbling something to himself about how he doesn't have time to mentor all these asshole kids. I sigh before stepping into Finnick's office, dreading what it's going to be like working for such a hardened old man like Haymitch.

"Have a seat." Finnick points to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. "Sorry about calling you out in front of Haymitch, but sometimes you just have to appease the old man before he'll do anything for you." A smile sweeps over his face. "So, how was his "grand tour?" Did he regale you with stories from his years on the force? Reminisce about all the young detectives he had the pleasure of watching come through these hallowed halls? Or did he give a young buck like you some sage advice to start your new career?"

I snort, "Oh, don't worry about the coffee thing, it's not my first time being the new guy. I figured I'd have to take a few steps back in seniority when I got here. And as for the tour, I believe the only thing I got from him was that he didn't really care to mentor any more kids."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Finnick chuckled.

I lean in closer to his desk and whisper, "He did tell me one piece of useful information, though."

"What's that?"

"That apparently you gave me his car keys."

* * *

After we get the car situation taken care of, and I receive a much newer, less dented, better smelling Taurus, we head back inside to go over my first assignment.

Finnick slaps a huge stack of files on my desk. "Here you go, Rookie. Your first assignment."

My eyes widen at the number of files placed in front of me. "What is all of this?"

"These are files that need to be closed. They've gone cold and we need to tie up some loose ends. There are a couple in there that, if someone new gives them a once over, may be able to be pursued again. Most of them are dead hookers or homeless guys, but they deserve the same amount of respect as any of the others. Take your time with these and really see if there is anything else to go on. If you have any questions, I'll be in the office right behind you. Don't hesitate to ask; between Haymitch and I, we've worked on all of these at some point."

I nod in understanding and reach for the first three files. I flip through them and realize I must have gotten a hold of the dead hooker stack. Glimmer, Cashmere, and Gloss just don't sound like your standard Christian names. And from the outfits and compromised positions they were found in, I'm assuming they weren't on their way to bible study group, either. I decide to set those aside for now and keep digging deeper into the pile.

Honestly, it does start getting a little depressing as I go through each file and see these sad individuals who were killed without anyone being held accountable for their deaths. I set aside a few more before I get to the last file, the one for Primrose Everdeen. I open the manila folder and rummage through the contents - photographs of evidence, the rec building where she was supposed to be, and a few other suspected locations. Finally, as I lay my eyes on the picture of the young blonde girl, I feel a sudden chill run down my spine and the creepy sensation that someone is standing next to me. I can't explain it, but I get this overwhelming sense of urgency to find out more about this case. This girl.

I feel a little sick to my stomach as I start flipping through pages upon pages of notes for this case. I look at the date: June 14, 2007. This case is almost six years old, why is it still open? I glance back at the notes and see three pages of phone calls placed from a Katniss Everdeen, the most recent entered just this morning.

I walk into Finnick's office with the file in hand. "Hey, what's going on with this Everdeen case?"

Finnick sighs, "So, you got to that one, huh?"

I sit down in front of him and he proceeds to explain everything to me: how this young girl went missing after her sister dropped her off for a Girl Scouts meeting, all of the searches the community did, and the only piece of evidence recovered being a pink ribbon she had in her hair the day she disappeared.

"There were a few people interviewed, such as her boyfriend and a couple of the neighbors, but nothing came of it. We have no leads. The only reason the case stays open is because of that sister of hers." He rubs his forehead in frustration. "We should have shut it years ago, but she is so persistent, and out of respect for Katniss, we keep it open. She calls here first thing every Monday morning, without fail. She's either crazy or the most determined person I've ever met. But, if you ask Haymitch, she's just a pain in the ass." Finnick smirks, "Trust me, you'll quickly learn all about the oldest Everdeen daughter. That family is just a walking sad story. Two pretty girls: one missing, the other closed off. A father killed in a mining accident a couple years before the youngest disappeared, and a mother that checked out a long time ago. It's sad, but you can probably find ten other tragic stories in that shithole of rowhouses over on Seam Street."

I rub the back of my neck, going over everything Finnick just told me.

"Hey, Peet, it's been a long day already. After you get off tonight, come have dinner with Annie and me. How about 6 o'clock?"

I get up from the chair and nod, "Yeah Finnick, that sounds good." Clutching the folder in my hand I head back to my desk and keep researching the case of Primrose Everdeen for the rest of the day.

* * *

After work, I quickly run home to get changed into jeans and a hoodie, and stop by a small liquor store to grab a bottle of wine for Annie before I reach their house.

They live in a new home, but it's not sterile or cookie-cutter like some of the larger subdivisions in town. It's obvious that a child lives here with them, given the few toys in the front yard and chalk drawings on the pathway to the front door. There is an inviting yellow glow coming from inside the house, making it look warm and full of love.

I barely knock twice on the red front door before Annie swings it open and I have a wild, bronze-haired four-year-old in my arms. I would have dropped the bottle of wine if Annie hadn't been there to catch it. From her cat-like reflexes, it's obvious that she's used to cleaning up the havoc that this little guy causes.

"Uncle Peeta, you're here!"

I smile at him while he wraps his small arms tightly around my neck. "Hey buddy, you've been keeping out of trouble?"

His sea green eyes light up and he nods his head excitedly while holding up three chubby little fingers. "I only got in trouble three times today!"

Annie walks over and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek while holding her arms out to take him from me. "It's a personal record, isn't it Patrick?" He jumps over to her and Annie grunts with the sudden weight in her arms. "Come on in Peeta, it's so nice to see you. Dinner is ready if you want to go ahead and sit down at the table."

I walk into the dining room and see Finnick already at the table spooning pasta onto everyone's plate. "Hey, I thought I heard you come in. Sorry, it's nothing fancy, but Patrick is getting a little picky about what he eats. I think this is the third night in a row we've had spaghetti."

I smile, "It's new to me, and really, I'm just happy to get a home-cooked meal. I haven't really had time to cook for myself lately."

Just about the time I sit down to the table, Patrick comes bouncing in and hops into the chair next to me, while Annie gives Finnick a quick kiss before taking her seat.

I look over at Annie and she smiles before asking me, "So Peeta, we haven't seen you since Christmas, how have you been?"

In between bites, I look over at her. Annie really is a beautiful woman. Her bright green eyes are striking against her pale skin and long, dark, wavy hair. She has a gentle, ethereal quality and grace that many women just don't possess. It suited her well when she was a schoolteacher, but she quit before moving to Pittsburgh, where she met Finnick. I never really knew why she left her job; she seemed like a natural for teaching to me.

"I'm doing well. Obviously, it's been a little crazy with the move and new job, but it's good."

Finnick interjects before taking a large bite of food, "We put him on the Everdeen case today."

Annie stiffens at his comment. "Oh, that's good to hear. Hopefully you can bring some closure for Katniss. I know she needs that."

The room becomes awkwardly silent for a moment and the only sound is the noise our forks make on our plates.

That is until we hear the muffled smack of a handful of spaghetti hitting the wall and the loud cackle of Patrick enjoying his new work of art.

Finnick and Annie yell in unison, "Patrick Conner Odair!"

At this point, all hell breaks loose. The second Patrick hears his full name, his eyes instantly glass over and he starts to scream, knowing of the impending punishment. Annie throws her arms into the air in exasperation before roughly pushing the double swing door into the kitchen, "I just cleaned marker off that wall this afternoon!"

I take the opportunity to shove a couple more bites of food in my mouth while Finnick tosses Patrick over his shoulder and takes him upstairs, kicking and screaming.

The door from the kitchen swings open, and Annie marches in with a handful of cleaner and towels. I jump up from my seat and help her scrub the bright orange-red mess from the aqua paint on the wall.

We both turn our heads toward the ceiling when we hear a thud, followed by the thumping of little feet running around upstairs. Finnick is yelling threats of no dessert and early bedtimes while we listen to Patrick giggling and squealing with delight at being chased.

Annie sprays more cleaner, "I have never seen a child so gleeful over attention like him, whether it's good or bad."

I let out a short burst of laughter. "Um, how about your husband when he was just a little older than Patrick? Just ask Rye, he has the best stories about it. Everything Patrick is doing is payback for the kid Finnick used to be. Sorry, you're just an innocent bystander."

She lets out a deep sigh and nods her head. "I know."

We both flinch when Finnick yells, "That's it, you're taking a bath and going to bed, now!"

Whatever screaming was done earlier is no comparison to the ungodly screeching that follows.

Annie slumps her shoulders, takes the towel from my hands, and stands up. "Peeta, I hate to kick you out, but I don't think you want to be here for the showdown that is bathtime. It was so good to see you and please come back again. But right now, I suggest you go."

I get up and watch Annie walk upstairs. Turning quickly, I head for the table, scarf down a couple more bites of now-cold spaghetti, and take two pieces of garlic bread for the road.

They don't even notice me leaving and I can still hear Patrick screaming from the driveway. I also have a splitting headache and could really use a drink.

I don't blame Finnick and Annie for Patrick's behavior, he's just always been a handful. He reminds me so much of Finnick when he was little; it's just in the kid's DNA. I can remember him and my brother Rye running through the bakery together and getting in trouble. They were partners in crime and usually took me along for the ride. I seemed to get most of the punishment for it, but for a long time, that was just my secret. Well, my mom's, too. I never blamed them, though.

Actually, I always looked up to Finnick. When I was younger, I thought he was the coolest kid I ever met; confident, smart, and good looking. As I got a little older, I respected his hard work and dedication as a police officer. Now, he is what I hope to be as a husband and father one day. He's always been a role model for me and I'm really thankful that I get to learn from him at work.

It doesn't take me long to find a bar on the way home. It's just a hole-in-the-wall type place called The Hob. There is barely anyone here, but it is only 7:00 on a Monday night. I find an open booth in the corner and take a seat. I can tell I'm already going to like this place; they actually have pretzels on the tables.

"Hey sugar, can I get you something?" I'm slightly startled by the deep voice that calls me "sugar." I look up and see a slender black man with short hair, gold eyeliner and - the only word for it is 'fabulous' - purple button-up shirt. He slightly juts out his hip and sets his hand on top of it.

I clear my throat, "Um, just a Yuengling, please."

He winks at me, "Sure thing, baby." He sashays over to the bar and talks to someone I can't see past the few people who are sitting at the bar. I turn my attention to the table and become entranced by the wood grain and the things carved into it.

It's been a long day, but my mind keeps going back to the Primrose Everdeen case. My brain keeps telling me to drop this: the case is dead and I need to focus on one that I might actually be able to help solve. But there is this strange feeling in my gut that won't let me drop it. I can't figure out the effect it has on me and that feeling I had when I looked at the file for the first time today. I swear it felt like someone was standing next to me and I just can't shake it. It's very unnerving and I don't know what to do. The only thing I do know is that I am going to figure this out. _All_ of it. If not for myself, than for this girl and her poor family.

I run my fingers through my hair; it's always been a nervous habit of mine. My hair is the longest it's been in years. I was about to get it cut again before the job offer, but now that I don't have to keep it so short, I've been letting it grow out again. My blonde curls will soon get annoying and distracting, but I'd like to see how long I can go without having to mess with it.

I don't even notice that anyone is standing next to me until I hear the familiar clink of a beer bottle being set down on the table. I never even heard the footsteps. I drop my hand and look up to thank whoever brought me my drink. "Thanks so much," I say as I take the bottle from her before even focusing in on who it is I'm looking at. My eyes catch hers and I am mesmerized by them. I can't tell if it's the lighting, but I swear they are grey, almost silver. I've never seen anything like it. She is absolutely stunning and my throat goes a little dry as I fumble with my wallet trying to get out some cash to pay for the drink. I try to swallow but find it difficult as I hand her a five dollar bill, looking up at her and trying to take in as much of her image as I can. Her eyes narrow slightly at me and a scowl forms on her lips. And, like an idiot, I can't help but think it's adorable. My eyes follow her long, dark braid down her lithe body and I chastise myself for practically ogling this woman.

What's weird is that I feel like I've seen her before, or someone who looks like her. There are so many questions running through my head right now:_ Who is she? What is she doing working in a place like this? I don't see a wedding band, I wonder if she's seeing anyone? How many times a week can I come into this bar before she thinks I'm an alcoholic?_

* * *

**Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone that has taken the time to read, review, reblog, and give kudos to this story. The support means so much to all three of us and we truly do appreciate it. This has been such an amazing experience, and I would also like to thank my co-authors for taking on this project with me. Writing with these two incredible women has been such a wonderful experience and I really do look forward to every new chapter we have to write.**

**I would also like to thank our beta sunfishdunes for keeping us in line and making sure this whole thing is cohesive. And a big thank you to our pre-readers, jennagill and desertginger, who have given such excellent insight on how our story is perceived.**

**Look out for Chapter 4, featuring Prim, coming soon! Come follow us on tumblr! I'm loveforpanem and the other two lovely ladies writing with me are soamazinghere and madefrommemoriesff. Drop us a line, we'd love to hear from you! **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Primrose

* * *

Can you believe that I didn't even realize I was dead until I got here?

Of course, at that point, I didn't even know where "here" was. And I'm still not completely sure. I thought, or at least I'd always been taught, that there were two places where people went after they died: heaven or hell. This place doesn't seem like either.

All I know is this: after I was killed, after I touched my sister while I fled, and after I finally stopped running, I found myself in a place that looked an awful lot like home. Well...that might be overstating things. Let's just say that if I thought that heaven was full of white clouds and angels and pearly gates, I was completely wrong. What I actually discovered here looked a lot more like Panem.

I found myself on a quiet street with a row of identical brown brick houses. Rowhouses, kind of like my house on Seam Street. But that's where the similarities ended. These houses looked well-kept and newly-constructed, with tidy front yards and colorful little gardens. A far cry from the peeling paint, broken window shutters, and patchy brown lawns that were common back home. It was like someone had taken my neighborhood and cleaned it up. It made me strangely happy to see.

But before I had any time to get my bearings, I was startled by a commotion in the house nearest to me. I whipped my head to the side just in time to see the front door burst open and a small, energetic woman hurrying out. "Primrose!" she called, rushing down the stairs towards me. She stopped in front of me and put her hands on my arms, mustering her best sympathetic smile. "Come inside, please. We've been waiting for you."

"Okay," I said immediately, not even considering the fact that I had no idea where I was or why this strange woman was asking me to come into her house.

Seeing _her_ should've been my first clue that I wasn't in Panem anymore.

Everything about the way she looked was just...unreal. I'd never seen anything like it in real life, only in the fashion magazines that I'd flip through in the grocery store sometimes while Katniss was shopping. Her hair was blonde, but not straw-colored like mine; hers was almost white. I would guess that it was pretty long, but I couldn't tell because it was pinned up on top of her head in an elaborate updo that looked like something high school girls wore to the prom. And her dress was made of a gauzy, blue fabric that flowed around her as she walked. It left one shoulder bare and fell just below her knees. She looked completely put-together and flawless, like _no one_ I'd ever seen in Panem.

We entered the house and the woman led me to a small, cozy living room, directing me to sit in an easy chair. I did as I was asked, but I was growing more and more confused with every passing second. I slowly opened and closed my mouth several times, trying and failing to formulate a question, when the woman finally spoke. "Welcome, welcome," she began enthusiastically, "I'm Effie Trinket, and I'll be your escort while you're here, Primrose." She sat down in a chair across from me and folded her hands carefully in her lap, looking at me expectantly.

We stared at each other silently for a moment before I realized that she was waiting for me to speak. "Um...alright?" I squeaked hesitantly.

She reached forward and patted my hand where it lay on the armrest. "I imagine you have some questions for me, don't you?"

Probably about a million of them, but my mind was such a jumble at that point that I was drawing a blank. "Yes, I do," I lied, stalling as I tried to calm myself. I gripped the chair's armrest tightly and picked the first question I could think of. "Where am..." I began, but I trailed off as my memories of what just happened came flooding back. And suddenly I knew the answer to my question. "Oh," I breathed.

"That's right - you're in heaven!" Effie said brightly, gesturing around her as if this living room, complete with a sofa, two armchairs, and even a television, should _obviously_ make anyone think "heaven."

But despite everything, her obvious enthusiasm made me start to smile. I bit my lip and looked around, taking in the room. "This isn't what I imagined heaven would be like," I admitted.

"Well, 'heaven' might not be the right word," she agreed. "But it's what we tell people to help them understand. All you need to know right now is that I'm here to make sure you learn _everything_ you need to know about this place."

I nodded slowly, and let myself start to relax. "Thank you," I told her sincerely. I wasn't even sure what I was thanking her for, but something about Effie was very reassuring to me in that moment.

Effie jumped up and clapped her hands together. "But first, you get to meet your new roommate!" she enthused. "She was in the backyard last time I saw her..." Effie motioned for me to wait as she rushed towards the back door. Just before she opened it, she paused and looked back at me. "Your roommate is, um..." she tapped her finger thoughtfully against her lips. Finally she shook her head and shrugged. "I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

Effie opened the back door and peered out, looking back and forth. "She was just here," I heard her mutter to herself as she walked outside, the door slamming behind her. "Johanna!" she yelled. I couldn't hear the muffled response she received. "Just come inside, Primrose is waiting," she called impatiently.

A few minutes later, Effie was standing in front of me accompanied by a lean, intimidating young woman with short, spiky brown hair. Where Effie looked like she probably spent three hours on her hair alone, this girl looked like she might've just rolled out of bed. I can't imagine it took her more than five minutes to throw on the jeans, boots, and tight red tank-top she was wearing. She turned to Effie abruptly. "This is her?"

"Yes!" Effie exclaimed in a clipped tone. "But let me formally introduce you." At that, the girl rolled her eyes but remained silent and let Effie continue. "Primrose, this is your new roommate, Johanna Mason. Johanna, this is Primrose Everdeen."

Awkwardly, I started to stand. My first instinct was to give her a hug, but honestly, I was a little scared to touch her. Should I shake her hand? In the end, I didn't need to worry about it, because Johanna shook her head, motioning to me to stay seated, and dragged another chair next to mine.

"You guys can just call me Prim," I said a bit nervously, looking between the two of them.

"Sorry we had to meet like this, Prim," Johanna told me. When she spoke, her voice was softer and gentler than I imagined it would be. I thought I saw a glimpse of her chin quivering, but she turned away from me before I could be certain.

The three of us sat silently for a few moments before Effie hesitantly started speaking again. "Johanna hasn't been here long herself. Just a couple of weeks. She - "

At that, Johanna's head snapped forward and she glared fiercely at Effie, effectively silencing her. Effie looked away and sighed in frustration. I couldn't control the worried and confused look that passed over my face as I witnessed their bickering, and that seemed to make Effie even more distressed. "We're supposed to make Primrose feel _welcome_," she said to Johanna. "You're just upsetting her."

"Right, Effie, _I'm_ upsetting her," Johanna retorted. "It has absolutely nothing to do with how she ended up here in the first place - "

"We're not supposed to talk about that, Johanna! She will discuss it when she's ready," Effie hissed, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

I just sat there stunned, not quite sure how to react to the scene playing out in front of me. But maybe that was a good thing. Since Effie first dragged me into the house, I'd hardly had a second to reflect on what had happened to me. Or think about everything - _everyone_ - that I'd left behind.

But at the realization that I _hadn't_ thought about what had happened - the fact that I was dead at 14 years old, no going back - a switch flipped inside me. Suddenly I couldn't think about anything else _but_ the things I'd lost. How I'd never have my favorite ice cream again. How I'd never get married. How I wouldn't be going to high school that fall with my friends. I'd never even see my friends again. Or my mom. _Or Katniss_.

And I just completely lost it. My head dropped into my hands as I rocked back and forth in my chair, unable to control the embarrassing wracking sobs that were pouring out of me. Johanna and Effie must've stopped fighting with each other at some point, because the next thing I knew, Johanna was kneeling in front of me, holding my hands tightly in both of hers.

Effie crouched at the side of my chair, laying her hand on my shoulder and saying, "Shh, Primrose, it's alright...it's alright."

"No, it's not," Johanna snapped. "She's just lost everything. Nothing can make that 'alright'," she added, her voice breaking.

Johanna pulled me to her in a protective embrace, and I sobbed into her chest. I mourned for my old life, and for the life I'd never get to live. I didn't think about accepting what had happened, or of letting go of what I'd lost. I let myself feel every emotion that surged through me; I held nothing back. I wept until there was nothing left inside me at all.

* * *

This place isn't so bad, actually. And it's very thoughtful of...well, whoever makes the decisions around here, to assign an escort to all of us new arrivals. There was a lot to adjust to - basically, I was living in an entirely new world - so it helped to have someone around to explain everything.

The little rowhouse that Effie brought me to after I arrived is where Johanna and I stayed while Effie helped us get settled into our new lives as dead people. It sounds weird to say that, but I can't think of any other way to describe it. I had to learn to live here after I died. The rules are different from Earth - here, I can have anything I want by just thinking about it. I don't need to worry about things like eating, or sleeping, or even breathing, although I can certainly do all those things if I want.

This may sound like fun, but it's actually a more difficult adjustment than you'd think.

I'm not exactly sure how much time we've spent learning and getting our bearings. Time is pretty meaningless here anyway. But Effie has told us that the rowhouse was always meant to be just a temporary lodging for us; once Johanna and I felt comfortable, we were free to go live wherever we wanted. Still, I had some trouble understanding that in the beginning.

"It's simple, Primrose," Effie explained. "Everyone has their own heaven. You can decide what it is, where it is, and who lives there."

I furrowed my brow in confusion. "What does that mean, exactly? Like, I can walk down the street and find another house for me to live in? Why wouldn't I just stay here?"

"This neighborhood is just for the new arrivals, dear," Effie said patronizingly.

"But then where does everyone else live?" Johanna asked. I felt a little better knowing that I wasn't the only one who didn't get it.

"Anywhere they want," Effie answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was, to her. I didn't know how long she'd been here, but she seemed well-acclimated.

"Well, how do we know where we're _allowed_ to live?" I still didn't have a clue what she was trying to tell us.

"You're _allowed_ to live wherever you want," she replied, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Johanna and I looked at each other, silently communicating our mutual frustration. Effie sighed loudly and rested her chin thoughtfully on her hand. Finally she stood and motioned for us to follow her. We walked out of the rowhouse and to the empty street outside. "Tell me someplace you want to go," she said.

"What do you mean?" Johanna asked, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms over her chest.

"We're going on a day trip. We'll come home later tonight. Just tell me somewhere you want to go."

I giggled nervously but decided to play along. "Well," I started, biting my lip, "I've never been to the beach…"

"Perfect!" Effie exclaimed. "Follow me."

And thus began our day of hopping from place to place to place, each of us requesting in turn to visit sights we'd never seen before. We started at the beach, then moved to the mountains, and before long we were asking to see crazy and exotic locales that I'm sure I would never have visited even if I'd lived a hundred years: the Great Wall of China, the Pyramids, the North Pole, Easter Island, and on and on.

Now, keep in mind, we weren't actually visiting these places - we hadn't returned to Earth. But Effie was trying to show us that we could conjure any of these places if we wanted to - we weren't bound by the same rules we were used to.

"And you girls can live in _any_ of these places if you want," she explained. "It's completely your choice."

I looked down at my feet, lost in thought. Visiting these places was nice, but I couldn't imagine myself ever living there. None of them felt like they could be home. "Um...could we go somewhere else?" I asked shyly.

"Of course," Effie answered quickly. "Where?"

When I was younger - well, for my entire life, really - my family never had much money. Dad's job at the mine and Mom's job at the drug store just gave us enough money to get by, with not much left over for luxuries. We never went on any vacations; we didn't even have enough money to drive into Pittsburgh to go to the zoo or a baseball game. Dad was pretty creative about entertaining his two young kids, though, and there was one place he used to take us when we absolutely, positively had to get out of the house. And I wanted one more chance to see that place; almost all of my favorite memories of him and Katniss happened there. "The meadow," I told her.

"A meadow?" Effie repeated. "You mean, like, a grassy field with flowers and trees? Okay, I guess we can - "

"No," I interrupted. "_My_ meadow. The one I used to go to...back home."

I'm not sure if anyone else knew about this meadow, and even if they did, it probably didn't seem particularly remarkable to them. I have to admit, it was pretty much like Effie described it: grass, flowers, trees. It was in the woods not far from our house on Seam Street. Close enough that Dad used to take us there all the time when the weather was nice. We had picnics there almost every weekend in summer, and Dad used to teach us the names of the plants that grew in the area...I even remember him showing Katniss how to use his bow and arrow.

By the time I died, though, it didn't exist anymore. Most of the woods had been cut down, and the meadow was destroyed along with it. Katniss and I never really talked about it, so I won't ever really know how she felt about the loss of the woods and meadow. But as for me...if it really was possible for us to recreate places from Earth here, there was nowhere else I'd rather return to.

Effie turned to me with a thoughtful look. "Primrose, I can't take you somewhere I don't know. You'll have to do it."

"But I - "

Johanna turned to me and pointed towards another thick grove of trees. "Come on, it's probably right over there," she said, dragging me in that direction.

I grabbed onto her arm. "What do I have to do?" I asked.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "But Effie made it look easy, so just...think about the meadow or something. Make it appear. How hard can it be?"

I held onto Johanna for dear life as she led me to the trees, with Effie following closely behind us. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to recall every detail. Maybe if I saw everything in my head, that'd make it appear for me? I didn't know. Our trip with Effie that afternoon was great for showing us the possibilities, but not the mechanics, of creating a new place to live.

I was so nervous that I didn't even realize that we'd stopped walking until Johanna shook my arm. "Prim! Is this it?"

My eyes flew open, and...there it was. My meadow. I don't know what I did to make it appear, but it was just as I remembered it. Every last detail. The flat little patch of dirt under the tree where Dad used to spread a blanket before we ate. The uneven ground where I always fell down when I was running. The spot where we usually found a few morels growing every spring. "It is," I said disbelievingly.

"Oh, thank goodness," Effie groaned, leaning gingerly on a tree (but only after inspecting it to make sure it wasn't _too_ dirty). "Girls, I think you understand what I've been trying to tell you. You can live _anywhere_ you want. It's all up to you."

"Um...can we, like, live with other people, or do we have to live by ourselves?" Johanna asked quietly, staring off at the woods in the distance.

"Either," Effie answered promptly. "You can be as solitary or as social as you like." She moved away from the tree and began walking slowly across the meadow, back the way we came. "I'm going to leave you two alone to decide what you want to do. Come back home when you've made your decision!" she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the trees.

I barely even noticed her go. I'd already started wandering off in the opposite direction, staring wide-eyed at everything around me, unable to believe that this was all real.

Well, as real as anything here is.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Johanna asked suddenly, breaking me out of my reverie.

"About what?"

"Where to live, obviously," she prodded, crouching down to run her hands through the thick grass at her feet.

I sat down on the ground, my body remembering this place so vividly from the hours I spent here during my childhood. It was the closest feeling I'd had to home since I'd been here. "I think I want to stay here," I answered quietly.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, feeling the sun beat down on my face. Without looking at her, I asked Johanna, "What about you?"

She didn't answer, but I could hear her pacing back and forth not far from where I sat. I opened my eyes and stared at her curiously. She was kicking the dirt at her feet with a conflicted look on her face. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but she didn't say anything at first.

Finally she turned to me. "You remind me of my little sisters," she said, offering no further explanation.

I'm not sure what this had to do with the question I just asked. "Oh, um...were they close to my age?" I asked.

She ignored my question again. "I used to take care of them when their dad - " she cut herself off abruptly with a shake of her head, an angry look crossing her face. She turned back to me and changed the subject. "It's why I asked Effie to pair me with you when we found out you were, um...going to be joining us," she explained.

"You did?" This was the first I'd heard of any of this. I knew Johanna arrived before me, but I thought that Effie had been assigned to us randomly. I thought it was just lucky on my part that Johanna reminded me so much of Katniss. She was much more outspoken and vocal than Katniss ever was - my sister tended to have few words for most people outside of our family and a few close friends - but in many other ways, they were so similar. In Johanna, I saw Katniss's protective nature, her loyalty, her caring, even her sarcastic sense of humor.

I felt so sad for Johanna's sisters, that they'd lost that. Just like I'd lost Katniss.

It hit me all of a sudden that having Johanna around had made my time here so far much easier than it might have been. The loss of my sister still stung, but the pain wasn't quite as deep as it had been.

Impulsively, I turned to her. "We could both stay here," I offered. "I mean, I understand if you don't want to, but there's plenty of space, and we could keep each other company, and maybe it could even be _fun_," I rambled.

I glanced at Johanna, and I swore just for a moment that I saw a tiny smile and a look of relief cross her face. But it was hard to tell, and it was gone before I could be certain. She dropped her head back and stared up at the sky. "I guess I could if you want," she shrugged.

"I do," I nodded resolutely.

Later that afternoon, we returned to the rowhouse and told Effie what we'd decided. She was thrilled to hear that we'd figured out where we were going to live. But honestly, I think a big part of that had to do with finally getting Johanna out of the house. Those two had just about reached their limit of spending time together. That's fine though, because the tension between them made me really nervous - I've always preferred peaceful coexistence to conflict.

We left the rowhouse for good not long after our day with Effie, and we've been together, here in the meadow, ever since. We're not stuck here or anything - as Effie showed us, we're free to go wherever we want - but this is kind of our "home base."

My meadow - I guess it's _our_ meadow now, though - has only changed slightly from my memories of it. We needed an actual place to live, since neither of us was interested in spending the rest of eternity camping on the ground, so we built two tiny, identical cabins. One for each of us.

It's funny, though. Even though she has her own place to live, Johanna still stays with me most nights, just like when we first arrived here. I feel like she's trying to protect me - almost like it's a habit left over from her time on Earth - even though there's nothing here that can hurt either of us. I don't mind though; without Katniss to watch over me anymore, I find Johanna's presence here reassuring. And I'm glad I don't have to be alone.

* * *

Despite what Effie told me when I arrived here, Johanna and I are pretty sure that this isn't heaven. It _can't_ be. If it really was, why would I spend so much of my time preoccupied with what's going on back on Earth? Wouldn't I be at peace by now? At the very least, wouldn't I be happier than I am?

Johanna thinks that we're stuck, somewhere in between heaven and Earth. I'm inclined to agree with her.

I spend a lot of my time watching what happens back there. I've done that pretty much ever since I got here, once I realized how easy it was. All I have to do is walk a few minutes away from the meadow, to the lake where Dad taught Katniss and me to swim when we were little girls. In the calm, reflective surface of the water, I can see everything.

Johanna, I assume, spends a good amount of time watching as well. She was the one who showed me how to do it, after all. And I don't know what else she'd be doing during the hours that she disappears every day. But even after all this time, I don't know who she watches or where she goes to do it. I assume she looks after the younger sisters she told me about, but I don't really know. Although we've selectively shared information about our backgrounds, we honestly haven't talked about how we ended up here. I know she knows about my murder because she arrived here before me, but I haven't been able to figure out any sensitive way to ask her how she died. But she got here when she was just twenty years old; whatever happened to her must have been tragic.

As for me, I spend most of my time watching Katniss and my mom. It's hurt me so much to see how devastated they were after I died, and how their lives have fallen apart since then. In a perverse way, I feel responsible for it all. I know that Katniss would be angry if she knew that I harbored this kind of guilt, but I can't help it; I do. If I hadn't died, their lives would be so different. Maybe they'd even be happy. Maybe we'd be like a normal family.

I wish Katniss knew I was watching her. I wish she knew that I was okay. Yes, I'm dead, but...I'm okay. More than anything else, I wish there was something I could do to help my sister start living her own life again.

But Katniss doesn't seem like she's going to change anytime soon. I mean, six years after I died and she still calls the police station every week? That's true dedication. And I'm not at all surprised by it. So I've come to the conclusion that the only thing I could possibly do to help her move on from my disappearance is to help her solve it. Which is really, _really_ hard for me to do from here.

There is one thing, though. One possibility. I realized not long after I died - purely by accident, really - that I have some limited ability to contact people back on Earth. I can't exactly control it though; sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. And I don't think I'll ever forget the first time it happened, when I accidentally showed myself to Annie Cresta.

She's never forgotten about it, either.

At the time of my death, Annie - I guess I should call her Ms. Cresta, but I never could get used to that - was an English teacher at the local middle school. She'd been my teacher during the school year just before I died. Annie had grown up alongside Katniss and me on Seam Street. Her family lived just a few houses down, and she used to babysit for us when we were younger. It was a little strange having her as my teacher in school, because we were close and I thought of her as my friend, but it was also really cool to have a teacher I knew so well.

Annie was very troubled by my disappearance. I guess I never realized it about her before, but she was...sensitive, I think is the best word for it. She was shaken up by what happened, although she tried desperately to convince herself that her feelings weren't as intense as they seemed. But it bothered her quite a bit to see people going about their lives normally after my disappearance, when she felt like she'd never be the same person again.

And just to make myself absolutely clear, I don't have the ability to read minds. The reason I know all this about Annie is because after I died, she used to talk to me all the time when she was alone. I don't _think _she knew I was listening...

One day, I was watching Annie clean up her classroom at the end of a long day of summer school. Just like most days, I found her absently talking to me as she put away her books and gathered the papers she was taking home to grade that evening. This time, she was rambling almost incoherently about how she'd been questioned by the police - not because she was a suspect, but simply because they were speaking to many people who knew me - and she happened to mention that Rory Hawthorne was being considered a suspect.

"That boy is harmless, Prim," she said angrily, "I know he'd never hurt you. I just can't believe it."

What she said didn't shock me. Of course, I already knew it. But she seemed so worked up just thinking about it; as she stormed around her classroom getting ready to leave, tears started streaming down her face. She continued ranting and soon, without thinking, I found myself trying to comfort her.

"It's okay, Annie. He didn't do it, they're not going to hurt him," I called to her. I thought I was so far away when I said that.

But then Annie turned around. The color drained from her face.

She looked _right at me_...and screamed.

The sudden noise startled me and I jumped, stumbling backwards over a desk. I looked around in confusion. I wasn't at the lake anymore. I was in the classroom with Annie.

_How did I get here?_

That thought left my head as quickly as it came, though. The only thing that mattered was that I was here. On Earth.

And a part of me didn't want to be here. That part of me was panicking, remembering what happened last time I was here, that this place wasn't safe.

But Annie was right in front of me, sobbing and frightened. And I did that to her. So another, stronger part of me tried to push aside my fears so that I could approach her. I didn't know what I should do, what could help her...but I had to do something.

I took a few hesitant steps forward, almost worried that the room was going to disappear if I moved too quickly. "Annie," I said, my voice coming out strangled and weak.

She retreated from me quickly, shaking her head vigorously. "Prim," she whispered in disbelief. But she came to her sense a moment later, slowly stopping her movements and peering at me anxiously. "You're here. Are you...alright?"

She must've known or seen that there was something not quite right about me. Her reaction puzzled me a bit. She didn't rush forward to touch me or comfort me; she just remained frozen in place, staring.

I opened my mouth to respond, but it hit me that I had no idea how to answer her. I don't think either one of us really knew what she was asking. "I..." I trailed off, swallowing roughly. There were a thousand things I could say to her in this moment, given the opportunity. But what should I choose?

"Um. Can you see me?" I asked, bewildered but hopeful.

"Yes," she answered immediately, still not moving. I could see her fists clenching and unclenching as she held them at her sides.

Hearing that confirmation from her sent me over the edge. Tears started streaming down my face. I sank shakily to my knees, unable to breathe or think. I put my face in my hands and tried to figure out what to do next.

I'm not really sure how long I sat there like that, but soon I felt Annie next to me. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on mine. She was crying too, but at the same time whispering that everything was going to be okay.

I still don't know if she was trying to convince me or herself with her words that day.

I returned her embrace, holding her as tightly as I could, hoping I could make this moment last longer.

I knew it would have to end sometime.

I can't pinpoint when or how the moment ended. Something dissolved, Annie's embrace and warmth were gone, and when I opened my eyes I was kneeling in the grass next to the lake.

I've never figured out how we gained and lost that brief connection. And poor Annie had no idea what had happened. Finding me there and then having me disappear so unexpectedly, right out of her arms, sent her into a panic. She spent the next hour searching her classroom and the school itself, insisting that she'd _just seen me_. The principal found her and took her home, trying unsuccessfully to calm her, reassuring her that I wasn't anywhere in or near the school. I remember wishing so badly that I could help her when I saw her put her hands over her ears, shaking her head and shutting her eyes tight, trying to block out what she was hearing.

She didn't come back to school the next day. And she moved away from Panem soon after that. It's taken her years, in fact, to recover from what happened...and she'll never really be the same Annie that she was before my death.

As unsettling as that experience was, I saw it as my only possibility for helping Katniss. If I could tell her something - give her a message about my death, what happened, who did it, _anything_ - maybe she could finally start to move on with her own life. So I have to do whatever I can to help her.

And if I could talk to Annie, surely I could find a way to talk to my own sister, right?

But apparently it's not that easy. I've tried over and over again to get a message to Katniss, but nothing's ever worked. I'm really hampered by the fact that I don't know what I did to reach Annie in the first place. I've spent a lot of time picturing what happened on the day I died and trying to somehow "send" the images to Katniss, but she seems completely unreceptive. And I've just about run out of new things to try.

* * *

There are people back on Earth, of course, who could help Katniss as well, if they were able to solve my disappearance. So she's not the only person I've tried to contact. I've also tried to reach just about every police detective who's worked on my case over the years. Problem is, I haven't had any more luck with them than I've had with Katniss.

I make it a point to try to talk to every single detective who looks at my file, just in case. You never know when something might happen, right?

Today I'm sitting cross-legged on the shore of the lake, peering at the newest person to come through the Panem County Police and be given the unlucky task of trying to make some progress on my case. Almost no one - not even Finnick and Haymitch - thinks my case should really be open anymore, and they'd give just about anything to be able to close it. If for no other reason than to get my sister to finally leave them alone.

The new guy is named Peeta Mellark. I've been watching him for weeks now, ever since I heard Finnick mention his name to Haymitch. I visited him on his old beat in inner-city Pittsburgh, listened in on his job interviews at Panem County, watched him eagerly pack up his life to come to our small town. Poor guy has just started looking over my pathetically small file. No evidence and no suspects for the past six years means very little substance to review.

I think I like Peeta. But to be completely honest, I've liked most of the people who've worked on my case over the years, even if they weren't able to really help me. Still, there's something about Detective Mellark that seems very promising; I'm not sure how he's managed it after eight years as a cop, but he's less cynical and less jaded than most of the people who've come before him.

He's just pulled out the picture that's attached to my file, my eighth grade school photo. I've always been embarrassed about the picture, actually - my hair was just not cooperating with me that day, and Katniss thought I'd put on too much makeup that morning and made me take it off at the last second before I had to rush to catch the bus - and even though I know exactly how silly this is, the embarrassment comes flooding back to me now because a _cute boy_ is staring at the picture. I can feel my cheeks flaming red.

But my discomfort fades as I see how he looks at it. It's hard to explain exactly, except to compare it to what I've seen other detectives do before him. Most of them stared at it for a few seconds, no shorter or longer than they did any other piece of information in the file, before setting it aside and continuing to read. It was just another detail in a crime they want to solve. The picture doesn't represent Primrose the person; it's just Primrose the victim to them. The face they see in that picture is only useful to them if it can help them investigate the crime.

I don't get that sense from Peeta, though. He's looking at my picture like he actually sees, and maybe even cares about, the person in it. I wonder what he sees to make him look at my picture like that?

I lean forward to get a better look, but I'm forced to close my eyes briefly when an unexpected wave of vertigo washes over me. When I open my eyes again, I jump and let out an involuntary gasp. I'm not sitting by the lake anymore.

I'm in the room with Peeta.

My hands fly over my mouth and my breathing becomes shallow. I haven't been back here since I talked to Annie, and...something about this feels all wrong. Once again, I have no idea how this happened. And every fiber of my being is screaming at me to run, _now_, back to the meadow. To where I know I'm safe.

But I'm standing very close to Peeta, closer than I'd realized, and as I turn to leave, my hand accidentally makes contact with his back. I feel him stiffen at my touch.

Does he know I'm here?

Instead of running, I freeze. As much as I desperately want to get back to the safety of my home, I feel compelled to do something. Peeta hasn't turned around, so I have my doubts as to whether he really even knows I'm here, but...I have to try.

"Can you hear me?" I ask hesitantly.

No response.

I speak up louder: "I'm right behind you."

Still nothing.

Tears start to well up in my eyes. The first time I've come close to contacting anyone since Annie, six years ago, and I still failed. I can't remember ever feeling this disappointed. I rub my palms over my eyes to wipe away the unshed tears.

And when my hands drop back to my sides, I'm back at the lake. I can still see Peeta, but I'm definitely not in the room with him anymore. I don't even know if what just happened was real.

But I hope it is. And I'm going to cling to this hope as fiercely as I can, even though I'm pretty sure Peeta will end up leaving just like everyone else. Maybe our brief contact - assuming it was even real - means this new detective will be able to help me.

I worry, though, because everything from Earth that I've touched since my death has ended up getting badly hurt. And I pray that I haven't already hurt him, too.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and following our story. We're so thrilled by the response it's gotten so far. We hope you keep reading and letting us know what you think!**

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**Stay tuned for Chapter 5 (Peeta) coming soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

Peeta

It's been about two weeks since I started at the station. My life has fallen into a comfortable routine, which is how I was getting by in Pittsburgh. I was just going through the motions and focusing on my career.

Needless to say, in my downtime, I've been bored out of my mind.

Since I've been here, my life has been a steady rotation of going to work, making dinner for myself, re-watching _Dexter_ on Netflix, and falling asleep by ten o'clock. I did go a little crazy last week and buy a couple of suits for myself. Also, I did actually make it through an entire dinner at the Odair house and even had a few drinks at The Hob. But really, who am I kidding? I'm boring and tonight I'm doing something about it.

I don't want to go too crazy, though, so I just decide to go to The Hob again. The few times I've been back here, the waitress I saw the first night hasn't been working, or I just haven't seen her. But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about her pretty much every day since. It's really bugging me how familiar she seemed to me, but I have no idea who she reminds me of. I know I've never met her before, so I've ruled that out. Honestly, it's getting embarrassing. I'm a detective and I can't figure out this one small detail. Maybe I'm in the wrong profession. Regardless, I'm going out tonight and I hope she's there.

I thought I had forgotten what it was actually like being interested in someone. My brothers were convinced I took a vow of celibacy, and my parents kept worrying I was gay. _Not that there's anything wrong with that_, my father assured me while my mother cringed at the idea of another man around the house.

I reassured them all that I did, in fact, like women and that I was not celibate - all over Thanksgiving dinner last year.

I can almost understand their concern. Technically, I haven't had a girlfriend since high school, and in the past nine years, I could probably count on both hands how many dates I've been on. If we're really being picky, I could narrow that pathetic number down to three, which is how many women I've actually been with.. Yes, I'm lonely, but I've had other things to focus on versus just getting laid.

I made detective within the seven and a half years I've been on the force, which is practically unheard of. There are men and women who work for over 20 years and can never make the progression. I took online classes and put time in on patrol, which meant that I really didn't have time for dating and social activities, outside of family functions.

For awhile I considered focusing my career on being a sketch artist, but apparently I took too many artistic liberties and got in trouble when I made everyone "too pretty." So sue me, I'm an optimist, even in a career that can make people extremely jaded. I'd like to retain a little bit of the beauty left in this world, and keep a little piece of myself in the process.

My drawing has proven to be at least a somewhat helpful skill while out on the streets. But being able to make quick sketches of suspects or places really didn't get me any awards or recognition. Making a few good calls on drug busts and gang murders are what set me apart from some of the other officers I worked with. Well, that and the fact that Finnick had an opening at his station. Either way, this is where I am and I am going to make the most of it.

I've been so deep in thought I didn't even turn on the radio on my way to the bar. The crunch of gravel under the car is the only sound keeping me company right now. It's pretty early on a Wednesday night, but the place has a decent crowd. It looks like regulars to me. I think I even recognize a couple of the patrons from when I was here before. Not that I really know anyone yet.

Speaking of familiar faces, the waiter from the first time I was here is walking over to me; only this time he's wearing a plain white button up shirt, black pants, and about twelve colorful scarves wrapped around his waist and head. "Hey, sugar, I didn't think I'd see you back here again so soon."

I smile politely and take a seat at the bar. "Yeah, I've just been keeping myself busy." I lie. "Thought I'd get out of the house tonight."

He smiles broadly and tilts his head. I watch his eyes scan me up and down. "What are you drinking tonight?"

I place my debit card on the bar and slide it over to him. "I'll just have a Yuengling, again." I nod to him when he asks if I'd like to start a tab and I look around the bar. I could just say I was casually taking in my surroundings, but really, I was looking for her. The waitress with olive skin and a long, dark braid.

I'm surprised when I feel someone brush up against my arm and I suddenly see a bowl of pretzels in front of me. When I turn to see who it was, I'm greeted with a pair of startled bright grey eyes. I surprise myself when I am able to speak and plaster on the biggest, brightest smile I can muster, "Oh, hey. I was wondering if you were working tonight."

Her expression changes from startled to confused. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

I clear my throat, "Uh, no, I guess not. I'm..." Before I can even get out my name, she spins around and starts to walk away. I'm stunned into silence and look back to the bar when I see the bartender set down my beer. I swing around on my stool to face him. "What was that about? Why did she walk away?"

The bartender laughs and speaks to me in his smooth voice, "That's how she always acts. Don't worry, you're not special. She's rude to everyone."

"Who is she?"

He chuckles to himself. "She is...not sociable."

"And why is that?" I ask before taking a long sip of my beer. The cool liquid slides down my throat and I instantly feel myself gain more courage.

"Look, sweetie, you are a very handsome young man, and I'm sure that you can have your pick of the ladies. But you're barking up the wrong tree with that one. She hardly even talks to me, and I'm her friend."

I grunt in disapproval before taking another swig of beer. "Yeah, well, I don't give up so easily. I'm a nice guy, people like me. I bet I can get her to crack."

"Baby, I'm sure people do like you. But that woman over there does not take kindly to new people, especially men." His deep brown eyes stare me down while he thinks over what he's about to say next. "Look, I want to see my girl get laid, and lord knows she needs it. What can I do to help?"

"I'm not just interested in getting her in bed. I'd like to actually get to know her." I think before continuing, "Would you mind at least telling me her name?"

He shakes his head. "No, that you need to get from her. What else do you want to know?"

As the night progresses, he and I talk for a couple more hours while he serves other customers and I nurse three more beers. I do at least learn that his name is Cinna. I also learn that my mystery girl likes the outdoors, has a dog, and is fiercely loyal to her family and friends, once she lets them in. He wouldn't tell me much about her family, but that sort of thing is personal so I can understand that. What I did get out of him isn't much, but it's a start, and it just makes me hungry for more.

As I leave the bar that evening without even succeeding in talking to the waitress, my new-found confidence quickly wanes. What the hell am I doing? I haven't dated anyone, or even been interested in anyone, in years. What makes me think I can do this? I can almost feel myself start to hyperventilate and can't wait to get out of here. Going out tonight was a bad idea.

* * *

On the drive home, my phone buzzes from the seat next to me. I must have left it in the car while I was inside. I look down at the screen and see I have three missed calls from my brother, Rye.

I roll my eyes. He always has to try and call me multiple times, like I never return his calls.

I unlock the screen and just when I'm about to call him back, the phone buzzes again and I see his name pop up for an incoming call.

"Eager much?" I answer.

"Hey, little brother. Are you ignoring me, because I know your ass wasn't busy. Well, unless you call crying while jerking off in the shower and listening to Coldplay, busy."

I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. My brother has always been a charmer. "Have you been calling for a reason or did you just feel like you haven't busted my balls enough lately?"

"What? Can't a guy just check in on his younger brother every once in a while?"

"Not when that guy is you," I reply curtly.

He laughs, "Touché. I was just talking to Finnick earlier. He said that they have you doing the grunt work right now. How's that working out for you, Mr. Hotshot Detective?"

"Hey, what I'm doing is important."

"Uh-huh."

Fuck it. He's right, it's shitty. "Okay, so it's not exactly what I thought I would be doing when I got here, but I have to start somewhere. I just wish they'd at least let me ride with them on an active case."

Rye's speaks to me in a patronizing tone. "Aw, Peeta still just wants to play with the big boys."

"Shut up, Rye." He has always known just how to push my buttons.

He laughs again, "Do you remember that time you just had to go with Finnick and me while we drove around the neighborhood busting the neighbors' mailboxes, and you pissed your pants because you were so scared of getting caught?"

"I didn't piss my pants."

"Oh sorry. You cried like a little girl, same thing."

"It's not the same thing, and what is your point?"

"My point is, you always do this. You want to grow up too fast or put the cart before the horse. You were too young to go out with us but you insisted." I hear him snort on the other end of the phone. "Or some shit like that. Look, all I'm saying is enjoy the fact that you made it this far. Don't get all pissy because you don't get to do everything all at once."

I hate when he is right. "Whatever. I'm just tired of being treated like I can't do something, when I know I can. It's just frustrating."

"No one said you couldn't do it," he sighs. "Look, maybe it isn't my place, but I talked to Finnick about it, and he put you on these cases for a reason. He really thinks you can help. I know he really wants to get those things closed. He trusts you with it. I'm the one that called it grunt work; he knows it's important. He wouldn't have asked you to come work them if he didn't think you could do it. It's his career he has to worry about, too, and no offense, Annie and Patrick are more important than you."

I pull up to my house and sit in silence while I take in everything my brother just said. It always surprises me when he can actually have these moments of sincerity and brotherly concern.

And then he brings me back to reality when he feels the conversation has gotten too heavy.

"So, you fuck anyone yet? Guy or girl, I'm not judging."

"Dammit, Rye. I've only been here for two weeks."

"So?"

"So, I'm not like you. I don't fuck just anything with tits."

He gets surprisingly defensive. "Hey, I have standards."

This time, I get to laugh. "Rye, I have seen some of the, and I use the term loosely, 'women' you've brought home before. You might want to rethink those standards."

He scoffs, "I'm wounded."

"I highly doubt that." I clench my jaw, ready for a subject change. "Can we just not talk about my love life, or lack thereof, for a few minutes? I was actually going to call you tonight anyway. I need to ask you something serious."

I can hear the hesitation in his voice, "Okay..."

"Is there anything going on with Annie? She's been acting really strange around me lately. Do you know if I did anything to her?"

"Not that I know of. Maybe she wants your dick."

"Ha, ha." I scrub my hand over my face. I should have know better than to think I could get two serious topics out of him in one phone conversation. "No, seriously. Ever since I've gotten here she's just acted different. Like she doesn't know how to talk to me or something."

"I don't know. It's probably that kid. He's a little shit."

"He's your godson."

"That doesn't make him any less of a shit."

I silently nod in agreement. "No, I don't think that's it. It started when I had dinner with them a couple of weeks ago. Finnick mentioned one of the cases I'm working on and she kind of froze up on everyone. I didn't think much of it at the time because right afterwards Patrick started going apeshit. But then something else weird happened: I went back over there again last weekend and Finnick pulled me aside and asked me not to talk about the case in front of Annie. I wonder if she's involved somehow?"

Rye is quiet on the other end. I get out of my car, walk into my house, and set my keys on the counter before speaking again. "Rye, you there?"

He clears his throat. "Yeah, sorry. What case were you working on?"

"It's a missing child case from a couple years ago. Her name is Primrose Everdeen. Does that sound familiar?"

His tone changes and he sounds concerned. "Okay, look, I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to say anything to Finnick about it, or else he'll kill me."

I grab a glass of water and sit at the kitchen table while he starts to tell me about Annie. "So, you know how she used to be a teacher, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that Everdeen kid is why she quit. She was her teacher when she went missing."

"Oh... But that doesn't explain why she quit."

"I'm getting to that. You know how Annie is into all that New Age bullshit?"

I hum in agreement.

"Well, she thinks she saw that girl after she disappeared. Annie said the kid's ghost came to her while she was alone in her classroom. It fucked her up and she was never the same after that. She's been to a shit-ton of psychiatrists and doctors. She's had brain scans done to make sure there isn't something abnormal going on in her head. She's even gone to psychics. Trust me, Finnick lost his shit over that. She's calmed down with it since she's had Patrick, I think it keeps her mind off of it."

"I wonder why none of this was in the case file."

"If you knew everyone in the station, would you want it on record that your wife is nuts? Plus, she doesn't really have anything to do with the case itself; so worry her with it? Anyway, I have to go. I have someone coming over. At least one of us is getting laid tonight. Sorry it's not you, little brother."

* * *

The next morning at work, I'm surprised to see Finnick already in the office and sitting on my desk. He sees me walk up to my chair and hands me a cup of coffee. "Mornin' Sunshine."

I wrinkle my brow and take a sip of my coffee. "Good morning. What's gotten into you?"

He flashes his thousand watt smile at me. "What has gotten into me is the call you made on this 'Glimmer' case." He slaps the case file on my desk. "Officer Chaff made an arrest last night and he's bringing in two suspects this morning for questioning."

He folds his arms over his chest and looks at me like a proud father. "We've suspected these guys of making and selling meth for a while, but because of you finding those receipts for pseudoephedrine in her personal belongings, we finally have enough to bring them in for questioning. After you pointed it out last week, I went around their neighborhood and asked if anyone knew Glimmer. The neighbors said they had seen her with one of the suspects and they had known the two of them to date in the past. Everyone there called him by his street name, 'Cato.' Chaff picked him up last night with his friend and suspected business partner, 'Marvel.'"

"They were both in possession of paraphernalia and enough meth to get them with intention to sell." He's practically beaming at me now. "Even if this tip doesn't lead to anything with the murder case, we still were able to get enough on these two to put them away for a long time on drug charges. They'll be off the streets for several years. They both have pretty extensive records, the judge will see that." He shakes my hand, "Good job, Rookie."

I smile like an idiot. Last week while reviewing one of the cases I deemed as part of the "dead hooker" stack, I went back into the storage room in the basement of our station, and found the box containing the evidence for Glimmer's case, including all of her personal effects. I rummaged through the box and found her purse, going through it completely, and checking every corner and seam. Tucked away in a small, easy to miss pocket, I found two crumpled up receipts for several boxes of store brand pseudoephedrine and batteries. I've dealt with a lot of drug dealers and junkies, meaning I can see the signs of meth production a mile away. People need this over-the-counter medication to make it, and battery acid to cut it. Our victim was just stupid enough to pay for it with a debit card instead of cash. I was able to track down the account of the card used to make the purchase back to Cato, which led us to the suspect being brought in today.

As soon as I got the card information and name, I took it to Finnick, since it would open the case back up and I'm apparently not allowed to work on those, yet.

"Thanks, Finnick, it was a lucky guess. I'm really glad to have helped."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Bullshit. That was more than a lucky guess. Don't pretend to be modest. That was using your intuition and following through on it. That was detective work." He stands up and meets me eye-to-eye. "I'm going to request permission from Haymitch to let you sit in on the questioning of the two suspects. I think you've earned it."

I'm in shock, I wasn't expecting this from him. "Wow. I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"You don't say anything. I do all of the talking - to Haymitch and the suspects." He tells me and points a finger in my face.

I nod in understanding and try to keep my cool, even though on the inside I want to scream and jump up and down. This is my case. My fucking case. And I'm going to be part of the investigation. Even if it is from the sidelines right now.

I hear the elevator ding and we both look over to see Haymitch walk into the office.

"Good morning, sir." I say to him in my most professional voice.

He looks up at me, nods his head, and grunts. He makes a beeline for the kitchen and Finnick follows him. Haymitch doesn't really seem like the morning type and I know he doesn't want to be bothered with this the second he gets into the office. But the suspects will be here any minute and we need to know if I can be in there or not. I just hope he's not too pissed off and hungover this morning to grant Finnick's request. My stomach is in knots waiting to hear the verdict.

Suddenly, I hear Haymitch bellow, "Are you fucking kidding me? He's been here for two weeks and you want him sitting in on a questioning? Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

My stomach drops. Finnick matches his tone in response, "How is he supposed to learn, Haymitch? He's the one that found the lead, one that you didn't. He should get to sit in."

"Watch your tone, Odair." He spits back, "I'm not in the mood to deal with this bullshit this morning. I have the Chief of Police breathing down my neck to get our numbers up. We can't risk this case on a training lesson for the boy. It's great he found this lead, but we need to let the adults handle this one."

I flop down in my chair. I feel like a child and I'm almost to the point of wanting to throw a tantrum if they continue on like that. I need to get my mind off of this. Looking down at my desk, I see the Everdeen case file open. At least once a day I pull it out and go through it again and try to figure out what I'm missing. It's to the point that little girl's picture is haunting me. I decide to pull it out of the folder and place it in my pocket. Maybe if I look at it away from here I can think clearer and come up with the answer I need.

Finnick and Haymitch pass me on the way to their offices. Haymitch doesn't even look at me as he walks into his office and slams the door. Finnick nods for me to follow him into his office and waits for me to enter before closing the door. "Hey, I'm sorry about all of that. I really don't think it's a reflection on you."

I sit down in one of his guest chairs. I can't stop my knee from shaking and I'm trying my best not to blow up at the wrong person. I can't help myself and blurt out what's been bothering me since I started: "What the hell is wrong with that guy? He's a fucking drunk and just stays in his office all day! He won't even let me answer those Monday morning calls for the fucking Everdeen case that I'm working!"

Finnick sighs and sits down in his chair. "Well, right now the main thing wrong with him is that our Chief of Police, Crane, is a piece of shit and only wants to look good for his constituents. He causes Haymitch a lot of problems and really ties our hands in this department." Finnick plays with a rubber band on his desk, tying it into knots and loosening them again. "But his drinking problem's been around a lot longer than Crane has our Chief. He saw his wife get shot during a holdup when he was just starting out as a cop."

I feel my eyes grow wide in shock. "Holy shit."

"Yeah, 'holy shit' is right." He ties another knot. "Chaff told me about it not too long after I started here because I couldn't keep my mouth shut and confronted him about Haymitch smelling like booze at work."

"He was just a couple years in on the force and married with a baby on the way. He'd been working several long shifts in a row and his wife Maysilee wanted to make a nice meal for him when he got home. Well, she didn't have something she needed, milk, eggs, something like that, and went to the convenience store. It got held up, Haymitch and his partner Chaff were called to the scene, and the son of a bitch that held the place up took Maysilee hostage and shot her right in front of Haymitch before killing himself. He lost his wife and baby that day. It was terrible, unnecessary, and traumatic, and he's been drinking ever since. He even sleeps in his office a couple nights a week just because he can't get away from the nightmares."

I cringe. "I feel like a dick now for being so mad at him."

"Don't; he still shouldn't be drinking at work and it doesn't excuse him from acting like an asshole all the time. That was almost 20 years ago, he can't blame his problems on that forever."

Just then, Haymitch walks into the office and I pray he didn't hear anything we just said. "If you two hens are done clucking, I suggest Odair get his ass into the interrogation room. Chaff just dropped those two kids off." He looks down at me, "Kid, you can watch the questioning from the monitor in my office. Don't fucking touch anything in there."

We all part and go on our separate ways. After about three hours of intensive questioning, that kid Marvel broke and they got a confession out of him. Both Marvel and Cato are going to be tried for Glimmer's murder. I helped solve my first case in Panem.

* * *

That evening, I decide to celebrate and go back to The Hob for a beer. I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of on a high right now. After everything that happened today, I even got a handshake and "good job" from Haymitch. I know I'm pushing my luck, but I really hope to see that waitress again.

I'm sure I look like an idiot when I walk into the bar with a huge smile plastered on my face. I make eye contact with Cinna before sitting down at the bar and he has my beer sitting there waiting for me.

"Well, someone's in a good mood tonight." Cinna winks at me, setting his elbows on the bar and rests his chin in his hands.

"You're looking as lovely as ever, Cinna. And I had a great day at work, as a matter of fact."

He bats his eyes at me. "Sweetie, you better not be flirting with me. I thought we were trying to hook you up with my girl over there." He points to the waitress and I turn to see her.

I take a swig of beer. "Oh, I'm definitely still interested in her, but I'm in such a good mood, I had to spread the joy around."

He playfully slaps me on the arm and turns away to tend to another customer. I smile at the waitress when she drops off a bowl of pretzels for me again, and she scowls. I'm pretty sure at this point, she thinks I'm creepy. But even that can't get me down right now.

I try my best to not watch her while I work on my beer, but it's hard to look anywhere else. Not to sound like a complete pervert, but I want to thank whomever came up with their little uniforms at this place. Those black pants on her do amazing things for her ass. I'm pretty sure somewhere Rye is smiling proudly at me knowing I can't keep my eyes off of it. She doesn't really wear much, if any, makeup. I really like that she's naturally pretty. Sometimes I can see a little hint of a smile when she's talking to customers and I want to make her do that myself. Unfortunately, with the way things are looking right now, I'm going to have to settle for confused expressions and deep scowls. But I'd take it if it meant she was at least talking to me.

I drain the last sip of beer from its green bottle and set it to the side to let Cinna know that I want another one. I decide it's time to come back to reality and focus on the Everdeen case again. I know that I want to do a new round of questioning, but I don't just want to go over the same things as before. The girl's boyfriend will definitely be the first interviewee. After reviewing the case, I don't think he had anything to do with her disappearance, but I want to get more information on what she was like in school, who she hung out with. Maybe we could even talk to some of those kids' parents. They weren't asked the first time around and I'd like to see if anything was missed.

There has to be something else that I am missing, though. I pull out the picture of Primrose and stare at it. I get lost in thought staring at her blue eyes and long, blonde hair. She's so innocent, it makes my stomach turn to think of what happened to her when she was kidnapped. I see my bottle move out of the corner of my eye, I look up and see the waitress pick it up and shake it.

She looks down at me. "Would you like another?"

I nod and drop the picture to the bar. Her eyes widen in shock and suddenly her face turns serious and I can almost see flames in her eyes as she begins to yell at me. "You son of a bitch!"

I am completely shocked. "Excuse me?"

She drops her tray, beer bottles and glasses crashing and scattering across the floor. Her voice gets louder and louder and I can feel the hatred in her tone. "You sick motherfucker, you took her, didn't you?"

I don't even know how to respond.

Wait, did she just say I _took_ her?

"You took Prim! I'm going to fucking kill you!" She lunges at me and just before she makes contact, I see Cinna hold her arms behind her back.

"Katniss, stop! He didn't take Prim! You need to calm down. You're making a scene in front of the customers." He looks at me with pleading eyes, willing me to make her stop.

I don't know how, though. I break eye contact with him and look down at the bar. I see Primrose's picture. Prim's picture. Suddenly it all makes sense. That is why the waitress looked so familiar. This is Katniss Everdeen, Primrose Everdeen's sister. And she thinks I kidnapped Prim.

I stand up, ready to make my case, but she breaks in, "I don't fucking care if I am making a goddamn scene. I want someone to call the police! This piece of shit took my sister!"

"Katniss, I didn't take your sister." I tell her in what I hope is a calm voice. "I'm Peeta Mellark. _Detective_ Peeta Mellark. Finnick put me on her case. I'm the new guy he was telling you about."

Her entire body goes slack in Cinna's arms when what I tell her sinks in. Her voice is almost a whisper. "You're the new detective?"

I pull out a business card from my shirt pocket and hand it to her. "Here, this is my card. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but I'm really glad that we got to meet. I had been wanting to put a face to the name for a while now."

"Were you coming here to get information on me?"

"I didn't know who you were until just now." I clear my throat and can feel the rising warmth in my cheeks. "The only information I have been trying to get on you was so I could ask you out sometime. But, with the new circumstances, I'm going to go ahead and guess that is off the table."

She picks up the photo from the bar and traces it with her fingers. Her eyes are starting to well up and she takes a deep breath. "Are you really going to try and find out what happened to my sister?"

"I swear to you I'll do everything I can to help. This case is my number one priority."

With a shaky hand, she passes me the picture. "Okay."

I give her a small, reassuring smile. "I have a lot of ideas for your sister's case. I'd really like to run them by you sometime. Would you be able to meet me for coffee tomorrow morning?"

She steps away from me. "What, like a date?"

It hurts a little that the idea of a date with me turns her off so much, but I have to keep this professional. "No, not a date. This is completely work related. I really want to get all of the information I can from you on this. I don't want to leave any stone unturned. Think about it tonight, and tomorrow you can tell me every bit of information you can recall, and if there was anything you think we should have done before, but didn't. I want to make this right. I want to make sure you get the answers you need."

Her grey eyes are unsure about her decision, but she pushes forward anyway. "I'm free at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

I let out a sigh of relief. "That's perfect. So that means you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Katniss**

The morning sun peeks through the bare limbs of the trees, the shadows of the branches dappling the snow beneath my feet. Lady trots happily down the path ahead of me, her breath making curls of steam in the cool winter air.

It's warm for this time of year, just cold enough to give my skin that pleasant tingle as the exertion of my fast pace brings heat to my cheeks. It's a perfect day for a walk in the woods.

The trees look different in the winter, and I miss the green of the foliage around me, the grass and moss below my feet, but I still feel at home here. I've always liked the woods; maybe because I love the plants, or maybe because it is a place that is all my own. It's quiet, and there are no people to gawk at "the girl with the dead sister" with curiosity, or worse, pity. They all know my face, my name. No place is safe from the stares except here.

And for some reason, in the woods, I can think of Prim and feel happy, almost like she never disappeared.

I come here whenever I can.

When we were kids, before Dad died in the mines, he used to bring us here on his days off. Prim would play in the meadow while I climbed the neighboring trees under Dad's watchful eye. Every once in awhile he would sing, and the birds would all go quiet as if they were listening to him. He had a beautiful voice. Sometimes I would even sing with him, back when I had reasons to sing.

There are fewer trees now than there once were; right around the time of Prim's disappearance, they ripped down a huge swath of forest and decimated the meadow to make room for an arena they were building. It makes me angry just thinking about it; that they destroyed this beautiful place that was full of memories, to build that monstrosity.

I only have a few hours of free time today, and tomorrow when I have to do double the chores, I might regret spending them here. But my meeting with Detective Peeta Mellark this afternoon is sure to be a hellish ordeal, and I wanted to spend the morning somewhere happy.

When I saw the photo of Prim in his hand that night at the bar, it was like being hit in the stomach with a two by four. My breath rushed out of me, leaving my lungs struggling for air, and my whole body tensed up. It had to be him, the one who took her. Why else would this stranger be carrying around her picture?

They say that when confronted with danger, a wild animal has two options: fight or flight. I chose to fight. Once I recovered from the shock, only Cinna grabbing my arms from behind kept me from attacking this strange man with everything I had. Cinna held me back until the stranger could explain that he was the new detective Finnick had told me about when we talked on the phone the other week.

I don't know what I expected - maybe a balding, seasoned old man on the road to retirement, looking for a little less high paced environment than the big city - but it certainly wasn't this young, broad shouldered guy with a full head of wavy blond hair. I'm not sure what to think about him. He seems nice enough, but unless I'm misjudging his age, he seems too young to be a detective. I know he's not lying about his position - I cleared it with Finnick first thing this morning - but I can't help but wonder what he did to make detective at his age.

I hope he doesn't think this is a date. He did admit that he had wanted to ask me out, and despite his assurances that this meeting was to discuss the case only, I can't help but wonder if he's got ulterior motives. He seems okay, I guess, but I don't date and it's bound to be a little awkward, with his admission hanging over our heads. The only reason I agreed to go with him was because he wanted to talk to me about Prim's case, and if it turns out to be a ruse, there'll be hell to pay.

We round a curve in the path and I see the looming face of the arena through the trees. Almost immediately, Lady starts to get agitated. Her leash, normally dangling loose between us, snaps tight and she starts pulling excitedly, wheezing as her collar cuts off her breathing.

"Lady, quit it!" I yell at her, winding the leash around my other hand to get a better grip. She ignores me, yipping excitedly between wheezes and scrabbling uselessly in the snow.

Maybe there's a rabbit hole in this area or something, but I know the spot because she always gets weird when I can see the arena through the trees. She's always been such a calm dog, ever since she grew out of puppyhood. The only time I can remember her ever behaving this way, besides at this one part of the path, was on the day that Prim disappeared.

"Ugh, screw it," I say frustratedly and stop in my tracks. I push back the sleeve of my jacket to check Dad's watch and see that it's probably time to head back, anyway. "C'mon idiot, we're going home." I turn around and drag Lady after me until she gives up and turns in the right direction, casting one last forlorn look over her furry shoulder.

* * *

Back at home, I stand in my bedroom in my bra and panties, starting critically at my closet. It's been so long since I went anywhere with anyone besides Gale and the other Hawthorne kids that I don't even remember what kind of outfit is acceptable for a meeting like this.

I pull out a long, soft green tunic sweater, a gift from the Hawthornes this Christmas that I haven't yet had occasion to wear, and match it with a pair of leggings. I pull them on and look at myself in the mirror for a moment, considering. The dark green actually looks kind of nice against the olive tones of my skin, and the cut is kind of flattering, even though I don't have any curves to speak of. I arrange my hair around my shoulders, and catch myself smiling at my own reflection like some vain, idiotic teenager.

_Fuck it._ My smile twists into a scowl and I pull the sweater back off over my head, kicking the leggings towards the far wall of my room. It's not a date. Why should I bother dressing up for him?

Lady watches my antics with interest from her perch on my bed, lifting her head from her paws to watch me fling my clothing around the room. "Shut up," I grumble at her. "You're a dog; what do you know." She stares at me unblinkingly until I roll my eyes and turn back to my closet.

I'm nervous for reasons I don't understand. I've told my story a hundred times, talked to what seems like a million different officers, detectives, reporters. I don't know why this should feel any different. He's just another cop who probably won't be able to do anything to find her, anyway.

I replace the leggings with a pair of well-worn blue jeans and the sweater with a t-shirt, then zip a ratty, old, grey hoodie over top. Lastly, I whip my hair into its customary braid down my back. Perfect.

Forcing down the flutters in my stomach, I turn my back on the mirror and sweep out of the house, snatching my purse and the truck keys off the kitchen table on my way out the door.

I climb into the old truck and turn the key in the ignition. To my dismay, it does nothing but make a sad chugging sound. I give it a little gas - still nothing. "Son of a bitch," I curse under my breath. Hopefully it's just the starter, which Gale and I can fix pretty easily on my day off. That is, if he has time to help me, in between dates and skiing trips.

But even if he can, that doesn't help me now, when I need to get to the coffee shop to meet Detective Mellark. The Hawthorne kids are all at work or school, so I won't be able to bum a ride off of any of them, Cinna's all the way across town and I don't have anyone else I can ask. I guess I'm walking.

I walk briskly and it's not too far, but even so, by the time I open the door to the shop, I'm twenty five minutes late, according to Dad's watch. I spot the detective immediately, sitting in a patch of early afternoon sunlight by the window. He looks different than he did the times I've seen him at the bar; his hair is neatly combed back from his forehead and he's wearing a dark grey suit with a white shirt and striped blue tie. He appears to be doodling on a pad of paper which sits beside a beige manilla folder stuffed full of paper - Prim's file.

He sees me and stands up, shoving the pad under the file before I get a chance to see what he's been drawing, and smiles the glaringly even, white smile of someone who's never missed a dentist appointment and never forgets to floss. "Katniss, I'm glad you made it," he says, holding out a hand for me to shake. "I was starting to think I was getting stood up." I eye him suspiciously, trying to decide if he's mocking me or criticizing me for my lateness, before taking his outstretched hand and shaking it warily.

"Detective Mellark," I reply. His hand is warm and dry, his shake firm but not too much so.

"Please, call me Peeta!" He meets my eyes with a genuine smile before releasing my hand and letting me sit down.

"Okay... um... Peeta. Sorry I'm late," I say awkwardly, sliding into the chair opposite him as he sits back down as well.

He shakes his head, waving away my apology. "Oh, don't worry about it! Think of it this way: I got to have an extra half hour getting paid to hang out in this cafe. Awesome way to spend a workday."

I study his face in silence. I don't know what he's playing at. Why is he being so nice?

A pretty red headed girl, who looks to be a little older than me, comes over to our table to take our order. Peeta turns to me. "What would you like, Katniss?"

I think of the sad, empty wallet in my purse, containing only the few bills left from my tips that I haven't set aside for next week's groceries and utility bills. "Just a coffee, please. Black," I tell the girl, who smiles warmly and then turns to Peeta.

"Oh, no, please get something to eat," Peeta pleads. "It'd be rude of me to eat if you're not, but I'd be heartbroken if I didn't get to try one of their famous donuts." He flashes that set of very white teeth at me. "C'mon. My treat."

I glare at him, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks. "I'm not hungry," I lie, "and I don't need your charity." _And it's not a date! _I want to scream.

"Oh no, it's not charity! I have an expense account with the Station for just this type of occasion." I narrow my eyes at him, disbelieving. "Please, pick whatever you want; it's on the Panem County Police Department." He smiles brightly.

"Fine. I'll have a Honey Glazed donut," I say, picking one at random. Peeta orders the same, flashing a friendly smile at the girl before she leaves to make our orders.

"I love donuts," he admits to me in a conspiratorial whisper. I feel the corner of my mouth twitch of its own accord. He notices and laughs good naturedly. "I know, cop who likes donuts, what a surprise." At least from what I can see under the suit, he doesn't have the belly of a cop who loves pastries. Far from it.

Our coffee and donuts come, and we eat and sip in silence for a few moments. They have really great coffee here, and the donuts really are good. I can't remember the last time I had a donut; it was definitely more than six years ago.

When Peeta finishes his donut, he wipes his fingers on his napkin and flips open the file. "Well, I guess we'd better get started. My boss, Haymitch - that is, Detective Abernathy - will probably be pretty pissed at me if I take too much time before getting back to the office."

He hesitates, then pulls a small tape recorder from his suit pocket. "Do you mind if I record our conversation?"

I eye the device warily, drawing my hands back to tuck them under the table as if the thing might bite me. "Why?"

"Just so I can go over your story on my own. It'll be easier than trying to write it all down, and then I can have your whole story on tape if I ever need a refresher."

"Isn't my whole statement already in there?" I wave my hand at the file in front of him.

He nods. "Yes, and I've read everything it says, too. But I don't want to hear your words through another cop's writing; I want to hear them directly from you. You knew Primrose the best, and you were the only person there that day. Your story is the most important of anyone who's got a part to play in this, and I want to hear all of it in your words."

Despite how I feel about being recorded on tape, I'm pleased. Everyone else who was on the case is sick of hearing my story, but Peeta sounds sincere. I'm sure he's only playing the game, trying to get ahead at work by impressing his bosses with what he can discover, but I guess if it gets me what I want, and he looks a little closer at the file, I'll play along, too.

"Okay," I agree finally, and he smiles, pulling the pad of paper out from under the file again. I watch curiously, trying to see his doodle, but all I see is a flash of blue ink from his ballpoint pen as he folds the top sheet around the back, exposing a fresh sheet.

He sets the recorder between us and depresses the record button, then positions his pen over the blank paper. "Okay, Katniss. Why don't you start at the beginning? Please don't leave anything out - tell me everything that happened that day, no matter how irrelevant you think it might be."

I nod stiffly, suddenly nervous. For some reason, being recorded makes me feel as though I have an audience, and I was never good with crowds. Slowly at first, but gradually flowing more freely, I describe the day; everything down to the temperature, the dog walk we went on, and the cone of Bubblegum and Cookies and Cream ice cream that I bought for Prim that day.

Peeta listens intently, his pen flying over the paper, jotting down notes as I talk. Every once in awhile, he asks me questions. When we get to the part about me dropping her off, he stops me.

"Sorry, to interrupt. Who else was there, when you dropped her off?"

I shrug. "A couple of the parents of kids who were playing at the center. They have a lot of activities there, not just Girl Scouts."

"Do you remember seeing anything unusual? Any people who looked suspicious to you? Any vehicles you didn't recognize, anyone there without a child?"

I shake my head. I don't have to think about it; I've gone over it in my head thousands of times, trying to see some clue that wasn't there. "I don't know everyone in town and I didn't pay much attention, but no one stood out. "

He nods, making a note on his pad. "Okay. And then it says in the file that you went to get groceries before going back to pick her up. Is that correct?"

I feel a flush of shame spread across my cheeks and I drop my eyes. "Yes," I say quietly. _Yes, it was my fault she was taken_, I want to tell him. _You can't hate me for it any more than I hate myself_.

"And what about when you went to pick her up?" I can feel his blue eyes on my face but I refuse to meet his gaze.

I shake my head. "There was no one there when I got to the center. No one strange and none of the usual vehicles."

"And what happened then?"

I hesitate. I've never told anyone else about my experience with Lady outside the center, but he'd said not to leave anything out. The worst that could happen is that he thinks I'm crazy, and I remind myself that I'm not supposed to care what he thinks.

"There was a... feeling." I pick at a fault in the wood of the table top. "My dog was with me, and she went nuts, barking and stuff. And I felt like... like Prim was with me. Like she was trying to tell me something." I shake my head. "It's stupid. She couldn't have been there. I mean, I thought at first that maybe I heard her call and didn't realize I'd heard it, but I looked everywhere, and so did the police, and they didn't find her."

He's silent for a moment, and then his hand reaches across the table to touch mine. I pull back, startled, and look up to meet his eyes again. He's pale, and he has the strangest look on his face as his eyes bore into mine.

"What?" I ask harshly, feeling the color rise in my cheeks again at his scrutiny.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then shakes his head as if to clear it. "No, nothing." He pulls his hand back to his side of the table as if nothing had happened. "Go on. What happened next?"

I take a deep breath. "I went into the center to look for her and saw that her meeting had been cancelled. I just knew there was something wrong, since she wasn't there waiting for me. I searched around the whole center, and she wasn't there. It's not like Prim to wander far, so I called the police right away, and then went looking for her myself. They didn't find her and neither did I. All they found was that stupid ribbon that she was wearing in her hair."

My voice cracks on the word "ribbon", and I try to cover it with a cough.

"You must have loved her a lot," he says softly. Startled, I look up at him. He's watching me solemnly, and I can see the pity in his eyes. That's the last thing I need; more pity.

"Do you have siblings?" I ask him suddenly.

He nods. "Two brothers."

"And are you close?"

"As close as most brothers are, I guess," he says with a shrug. "More so with my middle brother, Rye."

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to keep my face composed. "Prim and I weren't just like most sisters. I loved Prim more than anything else in the world. More than either of my parents, more than my best friend, more than any guy I've ever been with. She was the only person in the world I was certain that I loved."

He gives me a moment of silence as I struggle to keep my emotions off of my face. Then he says, "What was she like?" and for some reason I can't explain, I answer.

"She was perfect. She was beautiful and loving and kind. Already there were boys lining up for her. She had soft, blond hair like silk, and bright blue eyes, and fair skin. She always had to wear sunscreen to keep from burning." I smile in spite of myself. "After our dad died, I took care of her, but I could never say no to her, so she was a little spoiled. She loved everyone, saw the good in everyone. If she had one fault, it was that she trusted too much." My voice breaks again as my smile disappears. "And it probably got her killed."

He's quiet, and doesn't comment on my loss of composure. I'm grateful that he doesn't try to comfort me. He seems to know that I need to pretend that I'm fine, even though I'm not. Even though I'll never be fine again.

I hear a click as he reaches out and switches off the recorder. I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"So, I've got a few ideas of what I want to do on the case," he says, forging on as if nothing has happened. I'm grateful for the change in subject.

"This is the first part of course: interviewing you, hearing your side of the story, what happened that day. I want to go through the file with a fine-toothed comb, look for anything the others may have missed." As he's talking, he flips through the file page by page, not meeting my eyes, giving me a chance to compose myself. "Then after that, it's all dependent on permission from my boss, but I want to interview anyone who was a person of interest again, just so that I can rule them out."

"Does that mean you have to talk to Rory again?" I interrupt. Thankfully, my voice sounds normal again.

He looks up at me, surprised. "Rory Hawthorne? Primrose's boyfriend? Do you know him?"

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. "He was never her boyfriend. They were just friends, at least when she-" _was taken_, I was going to say, but the words get stuck in my throat. I stop and take a deep breath before continuing on a different tack. "He's my friend Gale's brother. They questioned him the first time, but he wasn't involved. I know it."

"I'm sure that's true," he assures me, "but I'll probably have to talk to him anyway. It should be easy to rule him out and then we can get on with the case."

"Okay," I answer. He clears his throat and his eyes go back to his notes.

"I also want to call up the police officers from other towns nearby; see if they have any record of similar cases. Maybe Primrose's disappearance isn't a one-time thing, and if other girls have gone missing, maybe we can find some new evidence which could link them and shed light on multiple cases."

I find myself watching him, staring at his face as he talks. His eyelashes are almost impossibly long, a golden frame around the bright blue of his eyes. Suddenly, he looks up at me and seeing me staring, stops talking. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, embarrassed at having been caught.

"What good is this going to be?" I blurt out to cover my embarrassment. "They did all this six years ago. And why do you care so much about this one case? I'm sure you've got other cases to worry about. What are you trying to do?"

He blinks at my sudden belligerence. "I can't explain why, really, but this case... it means something to me. It's important. I can feel it." He puts his pen down and closes the file, pushing it off to the side of the table, out of the way, and folds his hands together on the table in front of him. I watch him with wary eyes.

"Growing up... I didn't have the best of families. My brothers, we had a good enough relationship, and my dad is great. But my mom..."

He pauses and my curiosity gets the better of me. "Your mom what?"

"She smacked us around a bit when we pissed her off," he answers, his voice neutral. "Nothing terrible. It was worse for me than my brothers."

He's silent for a moment, and my stomach turns as the weight of his words hits me like a ton of bricks. "Sounds pretty terrible to me," I say, fidgeting uncomfortably.

He shrugs. "The verbal abuse was worse. I had very poor self esteem, growing up. That's a big part of why I wanted to become a cop, so that I could help other kids who are in similar and worse situations."

He pauses to take a sip of his coffee and I wonder at his composure. My mother was never a very good parent, and when my dad died, she basically stopped caring for us. Certainly she stopped caring for me after Prim disappeared; I became an adult that very day. But for all her neglect, her disregard for our well-being, never did she lay a finger on me in anger, or call me a bad name. I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up in that sort of home.

"I'm sorry-" I begin, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"No, no, I didn't tell you that to make you feel sorry for me. I just want you to understand where I came from." He sets his mug back down on the table.

"On my first day on the job, Finnick gave me a stack of cold cases," he continues. "I looked through them all, and of course, I'm going to do my best to solve them all. But there was something about this one, something that drew me to it. To her."

He reaches in his suit pocket and pulls out the photo of Prim that he had with him at the bar the other night, and places it on the table, turning it to face me. "This girl, she's special. I feel like I know her. The way you've just described her, it's like I already knew all of it about her, from the moment I opened her file." He runs a hand through his hair, mussing his neat part, and suddenly he looks like that tired and desperate young man again from the first night I met him at the bar. "She's lost, and she needs to be found. I want to help her. I _need_ to help her, if I can."

The fingers of my right hand reach out to caress the edge of the photograph, which is starting to become worn from being carried in his pocket and flipped past in the file for so many years. It's Prim's last school photo. I remember that Mom curled her hair for picture day, and she wanted to do the same with mine, but I refused.

He's right. She _is_ special. Or was special, since I'm pretty sure she's dead. My eyes flicker up to meet his and I see nothing but sincerity. Either he means it, and he really wants to find out what happened to her, or he's a damn good liar.

I decide to trust him for now. "Thank you," I whisper, dropping my gaze.

Peeta takes the picture from the center of the table and tucks it safely back in the file. "So," he says with a smile. "I think we're done for now, and I should probably get back to the station. Do you want anything to go, or should I settle the tab?"

I shake my head. "I'm good, thanks."

He goes to the front of the shop and pays the girl with the red hair, and then holds the door for me as we leave. "Bye," I call over my shoulder and start walking down the street towards home.

"Katniss, wait!"

I stop and wait for him to catch up to me. "You don't have a vehicle here?" he asks.

I shake my head. "My truck wouldn't start; that's why I was late getting here."

"Well, let me give you a ride," he says, gesturing towards the black Taurus parked in front of the shop in the angle parking.

"It's okay," I say, "it's not far."

"C'mon Katniss, don't be stubborn. It's cold out, and it'll only be five minutes out of my way. Just let me drive you."

I sigh. "Fine."

We drive to my house in silence, except for the directions I give him as we go. My truck is taking up the whole driveway, so he pulls up to the curb in front of my house.

"Thanks for coming down, today, Katniss." He holds out his hand towards me awkwardly and we shake again.

I nod. "You'll call? If you find anything?"

He smiles, and I think I feel him give my hand a little squeeze before letting go. "Of course. Your numbers are all in the file." He hands me his card. "And you call me if you think of anything else that could be important. Oh, and Haymitch finally gave me permission to take your calls, and he wanted me to ask you to call my desk directly from now on so he doesn't have to hear their phone ring that early on Monday mornings." His grin stretches across his face now and I let out a little huff of laughter. Yeah that sounds like Haymitch.

"Okay, I will."

I get out of his car and shut the door behind me, going into my house without another backward glance. But as I shut the door behind me, I watch his car drive away down the street.

Peeta isn't like any of the other uniformed cops or detectives I spoke to after Prim's disappearance. He's hardly like any man I've ever met. He sounds pretty confident and hopeful about his plan for the case, and for some reason he gives me hope, too.

It makes no sense. Maybe it's his kindness, his openness with me about his family situation, or just that he has a gift to influence people. There are definitely worse people I could have on my sister's case. Whatever the reason, I trust him, even though I tell myself that I shouldn't.

And I can't help but wonder if I'll see him at The Hob again tonight.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading, and for all your reviews, follows and recommendations! I hope you like this chapter! We're so thrilled that you are enjoying our story thus far, and hope that you'll keep following along with us!**

**Huge thanks to sunfishdunes for her beta work and to jennagill and desertginger for pre-reading! Without them, a much messier chapter would be in front of you today!**

**Prim is back in Chapter 7, coming soon! Come visit us on tumblr; my co-authors are loveforpanem and soamazinghere, and I'm madefromemmoriesff.**


	7. Chapter 7

I'm running so fast I can barely catch my breath. I've got to find Johanna and tell her what I just saw.

When I reach the meadow, I see the lights on in her cabin so I hurry to her front door. Flinging it open, I call, "Jo? Jo?"

I hear a clatter in the kitchen and before I know it, Johanna is standing in front of me with a look of concern in her eyes. She puts her hands on my arms and asks, "Are you alright? What happened?"

I nod quickly, but take a moment to gulp down a few breaths before continuing. I squeeze her arms and look her directly in the eyes. "Katniss is going on a _date_!" I squeal excitedly.

"What?" she asks, confused. Dropping my arms, she motions for me to follow her back to the kitchen, where she begins cleaning up a spilled mug of tea that sits on the table. "You nearly scared the shit out of me to tell me _that_?"

"Sorry," I apologize, moving quickly to help her clean up. "I just couldn't believe it."

"Uh, I don't believe it either," she responds, looking at me as she walks across the room to place her mug in the sink. "My impression of Brainless - and correct me if I'm wrong - is that she treats pretty much all men as, um," Jo pauses to think for a minute, "potential violent criminals?"

I decide right then and there not to tell Jo about how Katniss tried to attack Peeta, or how she accused him of taking me. Or the fact that he said their meeting wasn't a date. Those details aren't important.

Here's all that matters to me right now: 1. Peeta said he liked my sister. 2. He asked her to meet him for coffee. 3. Katniss said yes. Put those three facts together, and as far as I'm concerned, it's a date.

"You're wrong. She's going on a date," I confirm, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs and leaning forward on my elbows.

Johanna snorts derisively, resting against the counter and shaking her head. "Please. Remember when Cinna started working at the bar? And you thought he was hitting on Katniss when he asked her to go _shopping_ with him?" she pointedly reminds me.

My cheeks flame with embarrassment. She never lets me forget that. And I'll admit, it wasn't my finest moment when it came to reading people. What can I say? I had very limited experience with men before I died.

But Johanna's biased. As much as I try to convince her otherwise, she thinks that my sister, um...makes bad choices, to put it more diplomatically than Johanna ever does. That's probably obvious by her choice of the nickname "Brainless." She finds Katniss pretty frustrating.

I've spent years defending my sister and trying to get Johanna to see her as the beautiful, caring person I know she is, but her opinion hasn't wavered.

By now, Johanna knows almost everything there is to know about me, both from before and after my death. She saw how I died, and I can't think of anything I could possibly have to hide or any good reason to hide it from her. I don't always like coming here to the lake by myself, so sometimes I invite her along. She always volunteers her opinions about the people I'm watching; that's how she's gotten to know my sister.

But as much as she knows about my life, I can't say I know very much about Jo, though. She's strangely guarded about her past. She's told me a few things, but with only minimal details, and always only when I asked her directly. I know that she's from a small town in British Columbia. She has three half-sisters who are quite a bit younger than her - I think she told me they were 10, 8, and 6 when she died. Her sisters live with Jo's mom and stepfather. But that's all I know, if you can believe it. I don't even know how she died.

I don't press her, though, because I understand as well as anyone here why she might have painful memories she doesn't want to discuss. I certainly don't go around volunteering information about my death to people who don't already know it; I don't want anyone to feel sad or uncomfortable. No one needs to feel sorry for me. Now that I'm here, I'm fine.

Johanna rummages in the freezer and asks over her shoulder, "Do you want some dessert?"

I haven't even had dinner, but one of the advantages of being dead is not caring about things like ruining my appetite. And having dessert for dinner is totally acceptable, so I agree enthusiastically. She brings us each a bowl of ice cream and my eyes light up as I see that she's included both of my favorites: Bubblegum and Cookies and Cream. "You're awesome, Jo!" I tell her as I dig in.

"Well, I need more details about your sister and this supposed 'date,'" she informs me as she starts eating. "Are you sure this guy isn't her shrink or something?"

I glare at her. "He asked her out in a _bar_," I tell her.

"The bar where she works?"

"Yep!" I exclaim.

"That doesn't make this story more promising," Jo says. "Drunk bar patron asks out the bartender? And she said yes? She really is brainless if - "

I cut her off in frustration. "He wasn't drunk!" I huff. "He's a police officer."

With those words, Johanna nearly chokes on her ice cream. She gets up and runs to the sink to get a drink of water. After gulping it down, she turns back to me with a horrified look on her face. "That's fucking _disgusting_, Prim! Is it that Abernathy guy? He's old enough to be your dad, and from what I've seen of him, I'm _sure_ he was drunk at the time."

"No, no, no, no, no! It's not him," I assure her. "Even Katniss has standards." She must, given the fact that she hasn't let any men near her - well, aside from the Hawthorne boys and Cinna - for the past six years.

Johanna barks out a short, sarcastic laugh. "If you say so."

"This is a new guy," I explain, "and besides, you haven't seen every police officer in Panem. They're not all like Detective Abernathy."

She sits back down across from me and gives me a skeptical look. "Keep going. I still see no evidence of a 'date' occurring."

I sigh in frustration. "Fine. Here's what you need to know," I begin, ticking off the points on my fingers. "He's young, he's cute, and _he said he wanted to ask her out_. And then he did! There you go," I say triumphantly.

Johanna narrows her eyes at me and crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't know," she says slowly. "I just don't see your sister ever agreeing to go on a date. And why would this guy ask her out? From what I've seen of her - no offense, Prim - she acts like a bitch pretty much all the time."

"That's not true, Jo!" I exclaim indignantly. "She talked to this guy like a totally normal person, okay?" _Um, excluding what happened when she saw him holding my picture_. "And he really likes her, you should've seen how he was staring at her."

Johanna sits in thoughtful silence for a minute. "Does he know about you?" she asks finally.

"Yes, but - "

"But nothing, Prim," she interrupts me. "He's a cop and he probably wants to get ahead in his career by trying to solve a big missing persons case. No way is he sincere. I wish I could warn your sister."

I shake my head, refusing to accept her line of thinking. "No, Jo, you haven't seen him. He's not like that."

Part of me knows how silly I'm being in grasping at this tiny bit of hope. But Katniss has given me so few reasons to hope over the past few years that I'll take anything, _literally anything_, that suggests to me that she might be able to get better. That she might finally move on.

And Jo knows this too; better than anyone here, she knows how fixated I am on Katniss's well-being. The look on her face turns distant and she stares up at the ceiling. "What if..." she murmurs, almost to herself.

"What?" I ask her.

She shakes her head and laughs softly, bringing her gaze down from the ceiling. "I can't believe I'm even saying this, but...what if we spy on their date?"

I smile guiltily at her. "Honestly, I was probably going to do that anyway," I admit.

She laughs. "If they only knew how little privacy they have." I blush at her words, but can't help giggling along with her.

Jo continues, nodding her head confidently as she adds, "Let's do it! Then we can see for ourselves what's going on."

I'm so giddy, I'm almost bouncing in my seat. "You'll have to believe me then!" I tell her.

"Let's just see what happens."

* * *

Johanna appears to be absolutely mesmerized. She's barely moved from her spot next to the lake since we got here and I pointed Peeta out to her.

She and I had originally planned to just come here together to watch my sister's date. But then I suggested that it'd also be helpful to spy on the two of them afterwards to see if we can tell how they feel about the date or each other. And then Jo reasoned that if we were watching them afterwards, we should watch them beforehand as well, to see if either one of them is nervous or acting weird. So basically, our idea to watch an hour-long coffee date morphed into us planning to spend an entire afternoon camped out here on the lakeshore.

They better make this worth it.

When we got here, we split up to each focus on one person. Since I know her well, I've been watching Katniss...but I have to admit, she's been boring so far. Right now, she's taking Lady for a walk, just like she does pretty much every morning. Katniss doesn't vary much from her routine here - I know exactly the path they'll take, and I know that when they get close to the arena, they'll have to turn around and go home.

Since I died, Lady's never been able to get very close to the arena. It's kind of funny - everyone's been trying so hard to find me for the past six years, and they don't even realize that _my dog_ _knows exactly where I am_. And I'm pretty sure she thinks that if Katniss would just let her go, she'd run inside and find me.

Katniss's walk with Lady, just like everything I've seen so far today, is completely ordinary. Everything happens just as it always does. I sneak a sideways glance at Johanna, who still seems riveted by the scene in front of her. She must have something more interesting to look at.

"Hey Jo, can we switch for a minute?" I suggest, wanting a break from the boredom.

"Nope," she responds matter-of-factly, not even raising her eyes to look at me.

"Why not?"

She shakes her head distractedly. "Blondie's the hottest cop I've ever seen. You're too young to appreciate the view over here."

"That's _not_ why we're doing this, Jo!" I protest. But she decides to ignore me, so I lie down on my stomach and go back to my surveillance of Katniss.

I rip some grass out of the ground and trail one of the long stems in the water, idly making ripples in the surface as I halfheartedly watch my sister act totally normal, not like _she's about to go on a date_. After Katniss gets home from her walk with Lady, she grabs an apple and munches on it as she quickly flips through the day's mail. I know that apple is going to be her entire lunch for today - she often does that to try to stretch her food money further. Ugh. She's probably going to be a cranky, hungry mess by the time she meets Peeta.

"Holy shit!" Jo exclaims suddenly, bringing me back to reality. I sit up quickly and scramble over behind her. She mumbles something under her breath, but I only catch the words "hot cops" and "so unfair."

"What is it?" I demand, peering over her shoulder to try to see what she's seeing. As far as I can tell, it's just Finnick and Peeta talking about some girl named Cashmere. I don't see anything interesting in the least. I look at Johanna in confusion. "Nothing's happening, what's the problem?"

She gives me a look of disdain and pushes me back to where I was watching Katniss. "I _told_ you you couldn't appreciate this. Go back to Brainless - I wouldn't want you to miss anything."

"Fine," I huff. I cross my legs and settle my chin on my hands before I realize that Katniss _is _doing something strange - for her, anyway. She's in her room, standing in front of her closet in her underwear. Like she's going to change clothes, even though she'd already gotten dressed hours earlier.

That might not sound weird for most people, but since I died, the only times I've ever seen my sister change clothes in the middle of the day are when she's going to work or going to bed. Or if she'd gotten dirty somehow. So what's she doing now?

_She's going to meet Peeta, that's what_. My eyes widen as I realize what this might mean, so I lean forward to make sure I don't miss anything. Katniss rifles through her closet, pulling out and discarding several articles of clothing - all much nicer than her usual t-shirt and jeans - before she finally settles on a green sweater and black leggings. I can't help but smile as I see how pretty she looks. And I'm almost giddy thinking that she wants to make herself look nice for Peeta.

But then she does something I shouldn't find surprising in the least: she practically rips off the nice outfit she put together and changes back into the same t-shirt and jeans she wears every day. "Katniss, no!" I cry out without thinking. "You looked beautiful," I sigh dejectedly under my breath. She can't hear me of course, and even though I think I briefly catch a look of nervousness crossing her face, it's gone in an instant and she's back to glaring at her reflection in the mirror.

This is not going well.

"So...what's going on with Peeta?" I ask suddenly, feeling the need for a distraction.

"Eh," she shrugs, "I don't know. He was mumbling to himself, and I _thought_ I heard him say 'This isn't a date,' but I'm not sure." She leans back on her hands and looks at me.

"What does that even _mean_?" I say, flopping onto my back in frustration.

"Don't ask me. And all he's done for the past fifteen minutes is sit at his desk and stare off into the distance."

I throw my arm across my eyes and groan. A few minutes pass, and I don't bother getting up until I hear Jo laugh softly and whisper, "Uh-oh."

I sit up immediately. "What is it?" I ask, alarmed.

"Your sister," she says, pointing.

I look for myself and my face falls. "Her car won't start?" I cry, jumping to my feet. I clench my fists and stomp away from the shore. I purse my lips and breathe deeply for a minute before running back to where Jo sits. She has an amused expression, which annoys me to no end because _this isn't funny_.

"Don't laugh, Jo!" I exclaim as I see her trying to hide behind her hands. "What if this is my sister's only chance for love, huh? What if she spends the next six years just like this? _What if she never meets Peeta?_" My voice grows more frantic with each word.

Johanna turns toward me and grabs my shoulders. "Calm down, Prim," she says forcefully. "First of all, I'm pretty sure that she has to meet Peeta sometime - it's his job, remember? Finding you?"

I nod slowly.

"And don't get ahead of yourself calling this her 'only chance for love,'" Jo reminds me. "We've barely even seen the two of them talk yet, okay?"

I don't answer. I just sink my head into my hands and stare at the ground. Katniss is never going to get better without someone to help her, I just know it. So even though I understand what Jo's saying and why she's saying it, it's not that easy for me to shrug off my worries. I feel like I'd be better off preparing myself for the inevitable disappointment.

Eventually, Jo lets me know that Katniss started walking to the coffee shop, which makes me feel a little better. At least she didn't decide to just stand him up. In the meantime, Peeta's already arrived and found a table to wait, so Jo and I both stare at him in silence for awhile.

For several minutes, he sits, nervously rifling through the papers in the thick file about my disappearance and glancing up at the door each time it opens. "I hope he doesn't leave before she gets there," I murmur. Johanna reaches over and gives me a reassuring pat on the back.

Soon, Jo and I see him take out a notebook and flip to a blank page. He stares at it for a few moments, and I assume that's he's going to start writing, maybe taking some notes about his meeting with my sister. Instead, he starts making long strokes across the paper with his pen.

"What's he doing?" Jo asks quietly, almost as if she doesn't want to disturb him.

"I have no idea," I whisper.

We watch, fascinated, as the seemingly-haphazard strokes transform into grass and trees, and the shape of a person appears in the middle of the page. "I know those trees..." I say in a hushed tone.

Johanna looks at me incredulously. "Is that - ?"

I nod in agreement. No one knows this place better than Johanna and I do - it's the meadow. But it's been gone for years...so how does _Peeta_ know about it? How can he reproduce it so well?

Jo interrupts my stream of thought. "It's you, Prim. He's drawing you."

I look more closely, and sure enough, the figure in the center of the page is now unmistakably me. It's amazing how true to life the drawing is. In the picture, I'm running across the meadow, my hair down and streaming behind me. The expression on my face is unreadable, but I don't look unhappy. Honestly, it could be an image from my life now.

I'm more than a little bit worried about what Katniss would think if she saw it.

Several minutes later, Katniss finally arrives at the cafe. Thankfully, Peeta sees her immediately and has time to quickly cover his drawing and put it under my file. I'm sure that after what happened at The Hob yesterday evening, he's not taking any chances.

Jo and I turn to each other and share a look. _Here goes nothing_, I think. Expectantly, we settle in to watch the rest of the date.

As I hear Katniss and Peeta talk, I start berating myself for getting my hopes up so high. Katniss is being, well...Katniss. Right off the bat, it's obvious how suspicious she is of him, from her hesitant and formal greeting, to the way she challenged him when he asked to record their conversation, to the hostility she displayed whenever he said anything that a normal person might consider sweet or charming. I close my eyes and let out a disgruntled sigh when she dismisses his simple offer of food as "charity." She's trying so hard to keep herself at a distance.

Despite my rapidly falling hopes, I continue watching anyway, my mind only wandering a bit when she recounts her version of what happened on the day I died. I've heard it a million times already. But I perk back up when I hear her story change from the recitation she's made so many times before. Well, it doesn't exactly _change_, but she describes something new, something that I've never heard.

Katniss says that she felt that I was _with her_ that day, whatever that means. She describes being in the rec center parking lot, reading a book, Lady going crazy barking, and having the strange sensation that I was there with her. I don't know what to make of this. Katniss's feelings have never come up in her story about my death before. She always sticks to the facts.

Johanna and I are both completely silent, neither of us wanting to stop the other from hearing something important. But after Katniss mentions the strange feeling she had, I stop paying attention to her and start desperately trying to remember what happened that day. I mean, I _remember_ everything that she described - even though I was panicky and emotional, I have a clear memory of fleeing through the parking lot that day - but I never realized she was aware of my presence. I didn't think she heard me yelling for her or felt me reach out to her.

Did Katniss somehow know I was there? Even though I was already dead?

I don't know how long I sit there, trying to think through the implications of what I just heard, when I'm startled by a sudden short, surprised laugh from Johanna. I look up as she nudges me in the side, and I realize that I'd completely stopped paying attention to my sister and Peeta. "Is your sister doing what I think she's doing?" she snickers.

If I wasn't paying attention before, I definitely am now. "What?" I ask, straightening up and leaning forward to get a better view. "Oh my god," I sputter, clapping my hand over my mouth in disbelief. "She is!"

I know exactly what Katniss is doing right now; Jo spent quite a bit of time earlier with a very similar look on her face. _She's checking him out_. And pretty openly too, although he's not looking at her right now. My sister, the girl who only looks at men to assess their likelihood of being a kidnapper, is practically ogling Peeta. This is a positive new development.

Peeta looks up abruptly and I can see the embarrassment on my sister's face. "She's blushing!" Jo exclaims.

In typical Katniss fashion, she immediately tries to divert Peeta's attention by being abrasive and challenging. The tactic's pretty transparent; even I understand what she's doing, and I'm only fourteen. She thinks Peeta's going to forget all about what he just saw as long as she distracts him. I cup my hands around my mouth and call to her in a sing-song tone, "You like him, Katniss!"

Thank god she can't hear me. If I weren't already dead, she'd definitely kill me for spying on her like this.

I turn to Jo and shove her playfully. "See? I told you Katniss liked him!"

"No, you didn't," she laughs. "You told me _he_ liked _her_. Maybe there's something there, but let's not forget that Blondie's pretty easy on the eyes. She might just be having a natural reaction to being in the presence of that level of hotness."

I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her. Jo's been skeptical from the start, but I'm not letting her bring me down now. I know my sister. I'm sure she's been around other attractive men since I died, and she's never reacted like this.

As we watch the rest of the date, I point out the other little things that I see. Things that only I'd know, I think. Katniss was my best friend, after all. I know what's normal for her and what most definitely is not. She let him drive her home. She laughed - she actually _laughed out loud_ - when he made a joke. Since my death, you'd be hard-pressed to even see my sister crack a smile, much less openly laugh. And Peeta got her to do both! And the very first time they really talked, too.

When Katniss thinks she's alone, as Peeta's driving down the street to return to work and she's back inside our house, she stands by the front window and watches him drive away. The look on her face is pretty neutral, but I'm pretty sure that I see the flash of a tiny smile. As a matter of fact, she stays at the window long after Peeta's left, seemingly lost in thought. I wish I knew what was going through her head.

I turn to Johanna. "Well?" I ask her, raising my eyebrows.

She jerks her head up, startled. "What? Oh, sorry, I'm watching Blondie now. I've got to see how many more hot cops are hiding in this town."

I glance back at my sister, but I see that she's making her way upstairs to take a shower. I think it's safe to leave her alone. So I decide to join Jo where she's spying on the police station.

She shows me where Peeta is right now, chatting with Finnick and Haymitch. "Nothing too exciting here either," she explains over their conversation. "But I think they're talking about your case."

I scoot closer to where Jo is sitting so that I can listen in. I always try to keep tabs on where things stand with my case, even though there really hasn't been any headway in six years. But who knows, something could change at any time.

As I turn my attention to the police station, I catch Peeta in mid-sentence. I hope I haven't missed anything important. "...No, she didn't," Peeta is saying, laughing in response to something Finnick said that I didn't quite hear. "She acted like a normal human being."

"But did you learn anything that wasn't already in there?" Haymitch asks gruffly, gesturing at the thick manila folder that Peeta's holding under his arm.

"Well," he starts hesitantly, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Katniss most definitely did tell him something new, but how much is he going to reveal? "No. Nothing...relevant to the case, but - "

Haymitch cuts Peeta off mid-sentence and turns to Finnick. "I told you, Odair, it's a goddamn waste of time putting him on that case. That girl's long dead; there's nothing new to find."

Finnick makes a visible effort to stay calm as he responds. "We're just giving this case the same attention we're giving the other cold cases - no more, no less. We have to do what we're _expected_ to do," he adds, sharing an indecipherable look with Haymitch, who just grunts in response.

Peeta looks between the two of them, exasperated, as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against Finnick's desk. "I think we should do another round of questioning." He throws my file down onto the desk and taps it with his finger. "I _know_ there's more we can get out of these people."

Haymitch shakes his head and turns towards Peeta. "Mellark, you have no fucking idea how careful you need to be here. I don't want you digging too deep into this one."

I furrow my brow in confusion. What exactly are they suggesting? Why wouldn't they want to do everything possible to figure out what happened to me? I turn to Johanna with a questioning look, and I see her looking at the scene in disgust. "Typical cops," she mutters to herself.

Peeta spins angrily towards Haymitch. "I can handle this," he protests. "Why did you hire me if - "

"Peeta, he's right," Finnick interrupts, laying a hand on his shoulder. "There's a lot here you don't know."

I see Peeta open his mouth to reply, but Haymitch speaks first. "Kid, you can talk to a _few_ people. With some conditions." Peeta clenches his jaw and gives Haymitch a cold glare. "First, you can't talk to _anyone_ without clearing it first with me or Odair. And second, you have to record everything and let one of us listen to it."

"But why - "

Haymitch sweeps past Peeta towards the office door. "No 'buts,' kid. You either do it my way or we take you off the fucking case. Your decision," he shrugs, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

Johanna stands up abruptly and brushes the dirt off her pants. "I just can't watch this anymore, Prim," she tells me flatly. "These fucking cops are all the same, no matter where you live. You coming?" she asks as she turns to leave.

I bite my lip and look between Johanna and the lake. My curiosity's gotten the better of me now; I have to find out if they say anything else about my case. "I think I'll stay," I answer.

"Suit yourself," she says dismissively. "See you back at home."

I turn back to the lake just in time to hear Finnick reassuring Peeta, "...It's not a personal insult. This has nothing to do with you."

Peeta drops into the guest chair in front of Finnick's desk and huffs in frustration. "Then what's going on?"

Finnick walks over to stare out the window, turning his back to Peeta. He doesn't answer for a few moments, and when he does, the answer he gives isn't very satisfying - for me or for Peeta. "It's...that little girl disappeared in the wealthier part of town, you know? Some of the people who live around there are...influential," he explains.

Peeta gives him an open look of disbelief and disgust, but remains silent. Finnick sees the look on Peeta's face and shrugs helplessly. "Look, we could have some problems with the Chief if we bother these people."

"What kind of problems?" Peeta snaps.

Finnick walks back to his desk and sinks wearily into his chair. He sighs, "You don't want to know."

The two of them sit in silence for several minutes. The obvious tension between them is making me nervous, but I can't tear my eyes away.

Peeta's the first to break the silence. "Look," he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "can I _at least_ talk to some of the people from the school, then? Maybe the boyfriend?"

Finnick thinks for a moment and then nods slowly. "Yeah," he agrees. "That sounds like a safe place to start."

"Fantastic," Peeta replies sarcastically as he stands and heads for the door. "I'll be sure to clear my interview list with you."

"Peeta?" Finnick calls at his back. He stops but doesn't turn around. "Just remember we set up these rules for a reason. The problems with Chief Crane...well, they might not last forever."

Peeta pauses momentarily, but leaves without responding.

I stop watching after that, but I don't leave the lake. There are too many thoughts running through my head. I lie on my back in the grass, staring absently up at the sky.

Nervousness pools in my stomach as I think back to what Peeta said earlier. He's going to talk to Rory Hawthorne soon. Rory was never _actually_ my boyfriend when I was alive, but somehow, he became that after I died. Funny how that works. I liked him a lot - as more than just a friend - but I never got a chance to tell him. We never went on a date, never even kissed, but somehow our relationship got built up into something it wasn't in the craziness following my disappearance. The police questioned Rory, of course - comes with the territory of being the missing girl's "boyfriend," I guess - but he had an airtight alibi. Still, I feel so guilty that I caused him to be dragged into all of the unpleasantness surrounding my disappearance, and I really don't want him to have to relive that.

And what about the cryptic statements that Finnick and Haymitch were making? Even though I don't fully comprehend what they were hinting at, I'm worried. I've watched the police officers working on my case in the past - although admittedly, I watch them a lot less frequently than I watch Katniss and Mom - but I never had the slightest inkling that the investigation wasn't completely thorough.

It sounds almost like they don't _want _my disappearance to be solved. Well, except for Peeta - he does, but that doesn't matter, because he's not the one in charge.

Are they protecting Snow? Does he matter more than me? I shake my head to try to clear my mind of these thoughts. I notice that the sun is starting to set, so I stand up and decide to go home. These thoughts won't lead me anywhere worth going.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks, as always, to our beta sunfishdunes and our pre-readers jennagill and desertginger. You ladies are the absolute best!**

**We appreciate every single one of your reviews and comments on the story. All three of us read each one. Please keep them coming - we want to know what you think! You can also come talk to any of us on tumblr - I'm soamazinghere, and my co-authors are loveforpanem and madefrommemoriesff.**

**Our story is just getting started! In Chapter 8, we're back to Katniss, so stay tuned!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Katniss**

I wake up in the middle of the night, trembling and drenched in sweat. My clock reads sometime after 2 a.m on Monday morning. I don't think I've been screaming this time, but instead I am weeping, tears pouring down my face in a silent flood. I know that I dreamed of Prim, but I shy away from the images in my head. I don't want to remember what I saw that made these tears start to flow.

Lady noses up beside me on the bed, shoving her head under my arm with a whine. I let her cuddle up to me and close my eyes again, trying to find sleep.

It's useless. Every time I close my eyes, I see her again. There will be no more sleep to be had tonight. Thank goodness it's my day off and I don't have to work today. I don't know if I could tolerate the bar patrons on this little rest.

Lady follows me out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen, where I proceed to pull everything out of the fridge and scrub it from top to bottom. Then I scour our iron pans, and polish the glasses to shining. By the time the sun comes up, the kitchen is sparkling and there's toast on the table. Mom comes down out of her bedroom of her own accord so she must be having a good day, and we eat breakfast together, with me anxiously watching the hands of the clock tick by.

Finally it's 8 a.m. and I snatch up the cordless phone from the counter, Peeta's business card off the fridge, and go to the living room. I curl my legs up underneath me at the end of the couch and Lady snuggles up next to me.

I feel a lurch of something akin to nerves as I dial the number on the business card. I hold the phone up to my ear, and it only has time to ring once before he picks up.

"Detective Mellark," he says, his voice professional.

My stomach does a weird little flip flop. "Hi, it's Katniss."

"Katniss, good morning!" His voice changes, and I can tell he's smiling. "How are you?"

_Terrible_. "Um, fine thanks," I lie. "How about you?"

"Not great, if I'm honest. I tossed and turned all night."

"Oh. Um. I'm sorry to hear that." It's weird that we both slept badly on the same night. I wonder what was keeping him up.

"Don't worry, I'll be okay," he assures me. "So did you have a good weekend?"

I shrug automatically, even though he can't see me. "The same as always. I was at work for most of it."

We lapse into an uncomfortable silence. I scramble for some topic of conversation, not wanting to sound boring, before I remember that I'm supposed to be finding out about Prim's case, not having an awkward, post-first date phone call. Which - I remind myself - this isn't, because our meeting was most certainly NOT a date.

"Any news on the case?" I ask awkwardly.

"Well, unfortunately there haven't been any new developments, but you should know that I got the go-ahead to talk to Rory Hawthorne this week. I'm going to call him up and set up a meeting," Peeta says. "Then hopefully, depending how that interview goes, I'll get the green light to continue with my investigation."

"And then you'll get to do some of the other things you told me you wanted to do?"

"I hope so."

Silence falls again. This is where I would normally make a hasty goodbye, but to my surprise, I find that I don't want to get off the phone. It's strange; whenever I had spoken to Finnick (and especially Haymitch) on the phone on our Monday morning calls, I couldn't wait to get it over with. Now, though, I wish I had something else to ask, or something else to tell him, so that I could keep our conversation going.

"Uh... did you hear it's supposed to be nice all week?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. The weather?! _Really_? I could kick myself.

He laughs. "No, I didn't," he replies.

"Yeah," I say, forging on, feeling my face flame up. "Um, the paper says that it's going to be higher than the seasonal average all week." Thank god he can't see me right now. I'm so embarrassed; I probably look like a tomato.

"Well, that's nice," he says pleasantly. "Maybe the streets will be clear and I can start running outside."

My fingers find the hem of the ratty old shirt that I'm still wearing from last night, fiddling with the soft fabric. "Oh, you're a runner?"

"Yeah, I'd go stir crazy if I didn't find some way of burning off my extra energy. Besides, I have to keep fit somehow. How am I supposed to stand in the same room as Finnick if I don't stay in top shape?"

I stifle a laugh. "Yeah, he's… something."

"Are you kidding? If I swung that way, I'd be all up in that business. I'm not ashamed to say it."

Laughter bursts from my lips and Lady looks up at me, startled out of her half sleep. It is true that Finnick is extremely attractive, but I've never felt that way about him. More like someone appreciating a nice landscape or skillful painting. Besides, Finnick is married, and even if he wasn't, I don't have time for men.

Suddenly I hear the muffled sounds of Haymitch's gruff voice in the room with Peeta. "Are you going to sit on the phone and flirt all day, or are you going to get some work done?" I think I hear him snarl. If possible, I feel my flush deepen.

Peeta comes back on again. "Sorry Katniss, I've got to go. The boss just walked in."

"Um, okay," I answer. I don't know why, but I'm disappointed.

"Have a good day," he says formally. Haymitch must still be there.

"Uh, yeah. You too," I reply, and I hear the receiver click down on Peeta's end. I press the talk button on the cordless phone and disconnect, too.

That was probably the longest conversation I've had with anyone on the phone, ever, at least since Prim's case went cold and got pushed to the side. I have no idea what possessed me to keep the conversation going, or why I even wanted to.

I shake my head to clear it and stand up, dislodging Lady, who follows me back to the kitchen.

Mom's still sitting there, picking the crusts off her toast. "I'm going to the store today. Do you need anything?" I ask her. She looks up at me dimly as if noticing me for the first time and shakes her head.

"How about I pick up one of those frozen lasagnas and we can have that for dinner tonight?"

"That sounds nice," she says quietly, then turns silently back to her toast.

* * *

The grocery store is pretty empty at this time of the day. I'm lucky that my schedule makes it so that I can always do the errands when the checkout lines aren't filled with anxious nine-to-fivers who are just getting off work. At this time of day, I only have people like me and housewives to contend with, and those are usually far less populous, making the shopping experience just that much more enjoyable. I'll take what little enjoyment I can get; I hate grocery shopping.

It also means I have a higher likelihood of avoiding those pity stares that I hate so stupid town is so tiny, and everyone knows everyone else's business and something as big as a disappearance in a town this size is impossible to _not_ know. I will never not be the girl with the missing sister, a topic of gossip, someone to be worried about. I wish I could blend into the background like I used to _before_, and not be in the spotlight, something I've had to reluctantly get used to.

As I push the cart down the aisle, I hear a child's high pitched voice screeching unpleasantly and look up to find myself almost face to face with Annie Cresta - or I guess it's Odair, now. Her long dark hair is wild and disheveled as she hoists her son Patrick from one hip to the other, trying to get the little urchin to calm down.

Annie's not much older than me, and I've always liked her, even felt sorry for her a little bit. When Prim went missing, it was really hard on Annie, and I saw her fall apart. I don't know the exact details, but I heard that Prim's disappearance may have had something to do with her abruptly quitting her job and leaving Panem a few years back.

I'm not quite sure how to act around her anymore, but I do care about her. "Annie," I call out to her, and she looks up and sees me down the aisle from her. She smiles, balancing Patrick on one hip and her shopping basket on the other to make her way over to me.

"Hi Katniss," she says over Patrick's cries. "How are you?"

One thing I like about Annie is that she doesn't look at me as if I'm broken. Maybe because she's broken herself.

"I'm good. What's wrong with him?" I ask, eyeing the kid uncertainly.

"Oh, he wanted some candy and I told him no."

"Do you need help?" I hold out my hands to take her basket and she inexplicably hands me Patrick instead while she rearranges the items in her basket. I hold him awkwardly in front of me, bracing for the screams, but he shuts up immediately.

"Pretty," he says, I assume to me, and starts playing with my braid. I wince as he gives a particularly hard tug.

I'm not quite sure what to do with him. He looks up at me with gigantic sea green eyes that look like they were transplanted right out of his father's face. He's going to be a damn attractive guy when he grows up, with those genes. Maybe even more attractive than his dad, with the combination of his mom's soft features added into the mix.

He grins at me and I let loose an involuntary laugh. Oh dear god. Charming already, too. Like the world needs another Odair with that kind of charisma on the loose.

"He likes you," Annie says softly.

I look up at her, startled. "Really?" I ask. I haven't really been around kids since Posy got too old to be considered one.

She nods, smiling softly. "You'll be a great mom one day."

I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. I learned how to be a parent when Dad died. It was a tough education, one I wish I'd never had to earn.

I shake my head, avoiding her eyes. "I don't think I'm ever going to be a mother. I don't have the time or money to have a family, anyway."

"Well, maybe one day," she says gently, and eases Patrick out of my arms. "I haven't seen you for a while. How's your mom?"

I shrug. "The same as always."

"I miss you," she says softly. "I miss spending Friday nights eating pizza and watching movies with you and - " she stops and her face goes white.

I can feel Prim's name hanging in the air between us. She doesn't like to talk about Prim either, not when they used to spend so much time together. Annie was Prim's favorite teacher, when she was taking classes from her. And unless I'm much mistaken, Prim was a favourite of Annie's, as well.

"Oh hey, I met Finnick's new partner the other day. He seems nice," I say, to change the subject.

She nods. "Yes, he's an old friend of Finnick's. Or rather, Finnick is friends with his older brother." She looks at me hesitantly before adding, "He said he was going to be working on your sister's case."

And we're back to that again, the thing I can never escape, the missing sister thing. "Yeah, I met with him on Thursday."

"I've got a meeting coming up with him myself," she says, looking uneasy at the prospect.

"Really?" I ask, curiously, wondering why he didn't tell me that on the phone earlier. "What about?"

She shakes her head, making her long dark hair ripple around her shoulders. "I'm not sure, but probably the same as... last time."

I find myself wanting to reassure her; she looks distressed at the thought. "Well, I'm sure it will be easy. Peeta seems really nice."

She smiles tentatively. "Well, I guess I should get this hooligan home for his nap," she says. "But don't be a stranger, Katniss. I…" she hesitates, "I worry about you, sometimes," she says.

I don't need her to be worrying about me, but with Annie, I can't bear to contradict her. With anyone else, I'd snap back at them in a heartbeat, but Annie has the kindest, gentlest heart of anyone I've ever met.

"I'm okay," I say lamely. But as she walks by, she just slides her arm through the handles of her basket to free her hand and raises it to touch my cheek softly. And then, without another word, she's gone.

* * *

"Katniss, pass me that wrench," Gale's voice drifts out from under the vehicle. His long legs are sticking out from underneath, where he lies on his back, trying to replace the starter on Dad's truck. I'm glad that we could find a time for us to work on it; it's already Wednesday and I've been without a vehicle for nearly a week now. The lack of independence is driving me crazy.

It's good that we can do this together. Gale gets the parts for cheap from his high school buddy, Thom, who works at a mechanic shop. I'd never be able to keep this old thing up if I had to pay full price for parts and labor, too. Thankfully, this time it was just the starter that needed to be changed out, which was a fairly easy fix once Thom found us the part we needed.

"Which wrench?" I mouth to Rory with wide eyes and he laughs, pulling it out of the tool box and handing it to me so I can give it to Gale.

"Thanks," he mumbles, returning to the truck. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be helping me or something? This is your truck, after all."

"We won't both fit under there," I retort.

"Excuses, excuses. Hey, how did the thing with the cop go?"

Rory looks at me with interest, and I avoid his eyes, scuffing my boot against the cement floor of the garage. "Um, it was fine, I guess. He's young for a cop - only a few years older than me, I think - but he seems pretty cool, actually. He's going to try and reopen the case, try to get to the bottom of things."

"Yeah, he called here yesterday and left a message while I was at school," Rory says bleakly. "Does he need to interview me again?"

I nod. "Yeah, he said that he'd need to, just to hear your story again and see if you have anything to add." I reach out a hand to touch Rory's arm. Prim's disappearance hit him really hard; they were so close back then.

Abruptly, Gale slides out from under the car and sits up. "Fucking cops," he says angrily. "Rory's already been through this! Why does he have to go through it all over again?"

"Why do any of us have to go through it again?" I ask him. "Peeta's - "

"_Peeta!" _Gale says the name like an expletive. "You're on first name terms with this asshole?"

"He's not an asshole!" I shout back, angrily. "He says going to try to solve Prim's case, and I believe him, Gale!"

Gale's mouth hardens into a tight line. "Fine. Look, if he's going to reopen her case, then I'm happy." He glances quickly at Rory and away again. "We all want her to be found and for this to finally be over and done with. But why does he have to talk to Rory again?"

I sigh, frustrated. "He's talking to everyone. He's new in town, and he just wants to be thorough. Rory knew her really well; it only makes sense that Peeta would interview him too."

Gale makes a grunt of assent. "Well you can tell him that I'm going to be there when he talks to Rory, and I just hope he's got his head out of his ass. Unlike the rest of the cops in this stupid town. And if not, there'll be hell to pay."

"I don't need you there, man," Rory interjects. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Oh you can bet your ass I'm going to be here," Gale grumbles. "And you - " he jabs a finger at his brother, " - don't get a say in the matter."

Rory holds up his hands in surrender and turns away. He shoots me a look that Gale can't see and I have to stifle a laugh.

"Why are you defending him, anyway?" Gale asks, whirling back to face me. "I would've thought you'd be pissed too."

"I'm not defending him," I retort. "He just... seems different than the rest."

Gale scans my face and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks under his scrutiny. Slowly his scowls transforms into a gleeful expression, almost bordering on devious. "Oh my fucking god, like him!"

I shake my head vigorously. "No I don't!"

"I don't believe it! You do! You like him!"

"Fuck off, Gale, I do not." I turn my eyes on Rory, who shrinks back. "Can you believe this guy?"

Rory shakes his head, holding up both hands. "I'm not getting involved."

Finally Gale stops guffawing like a moron. "Sorry Catnip," he says, still grinning. "But you know, it wouldn't kill you to let yourself fall for someone for once."

"I'm not falling for him. Let it go. I just think he'll do a good job on Prim's case."

Gale shakes his head. "Fine, whatever you say. I hope for your sake that you're right about the case, and I hope for both of our sakes that _I'm _right. Getting laid would sure lighten you up." He laughs, dodging the punch I throw his way.

The door of the garage opens and Gale's mom Hazelle appears in the light that pours in from the house. "What's going on out here?"

"Nothing," I say hurriedly, my blush deepening. "Gale was just horsing around." I direct a warning glance in his direction. _Don't say it, don't even think it._ Mercifully, he keeps quiet.

Hazelle eyes the three of us suspiciously. "Alright, you were just making a lot of noise, is all. Dinner's ready, so go wash up and come sit at the table with the family."

"Great timing," Gale answers, rubbing his dirty hands off on an old rag. "I just finished; she should be good to go, Catnip."

"Thanks Gale."

Gale, Rory and I shuffle into the house and squeeze in around the sink to wash our hands elbow to elbow. The boys are both so much taller than me; Rory is a slightly slimmer built, longer faced copy of his brother. I fit right in here with my dark brown hair and grey eyes that match all of the Hawthorne kids'. Any outsider would assume that these two men on either side of me were my brothers, or at the very least, my cousins, and they'd almost be right. The Hawthorne's are the only family I have. Hazelle is more of a mother to me than my own, and more than that, she has been my friend.

Posy is helping her mom set the table, and the petite pre-teen gives me a big hug when we join them in the kitchen. "Katniss, I missed you!" she cries joyfully, her little arms circling my ribcage. She's got taller genes than I do; before long, she'll be taller than me. She's only twelve, but she's already taller than Prim ever was.

"Hi Posy-bear. I missed you, too." I plant a kiss on the top of her head, seeing Gale watching me from the corner of my eye.

"Sit by me!" she says eagerly and I have to laugh, letting her pull me over to my seat. Gale sits on my other side, and Rory takes the seat beside his mother. Finally, gangly, pimply Vick slides into the kitchen. Poor kid, the youngest of Gale's brothers, is right in the worst part of puberty, and hasn't yet crossed over the threshold into being graceful and handsome like Gale and Rory. "Hey Katniss," he mumbles, slumping into the last empty chair.

"Hey Vick."

"Alright, now that we're all seated, eat up!" Hazelle gestures to the food in front of us and the boys dig in with gusto. Normally she would make them wait until their guests were served, brandishing a plastic spatula like a sword, but it's been years since I was considered a guest in this house.

Hazelle has prepared a shepherd's pie, and it's delicious. I don't often get to eat proper, tasty meals, since the only things I get to eat are the things I take the time to prepare myself. I've always got so many things going on that I don't have time to plan real meals, and even if I did, most of it would go to waste since it's just my mom and me. If I'm being honest, she wouldn't appreciate the effort anyway. It's nice sitting around the table with the Hawthornes, listening to the idle chatter that is absent from my own home. Nice, but at the same time unbearable, when I look back to a time when my real family was whole.

After I'm finished, I help Hazelle with the dishes while Rory and Gale go back out to the garage to test the truck to make sure it works and to clean up. I hear the familiar rumble coming through the garage door and can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. I've been bumming rides off of Cinna, but I hate owing people, so I'll be glad to have my autonomy back.

"You'll take some food home for your mom?" Hazelle asks me, but its more of a statement than a question.

"Sure, thank you."

She hands me a soapy plate, which I dunk in the rinse water and then start drying with the tea towel in my hand. "Anytime, Katniss. You know you and your mom are welcome here whenever you want."

I nod. "I know. Thank you."

"You should think about letting me take care of your mom a few nights a week," she muses.

I shoot her a confused glance as I reach to take the next plate from her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you can't always be running home to her all the time, and it would be nice if you could go out and not have to worry about if she's eating. I could go over, cook dinner, eat with her. Posy can come, too, if she's done her homework."

I shake my head. When Mom first stopped taking care of herself, I looked into in-home care, but it was too expensive. "I can't afford that, Hazelle. It wouldn't be right for me to take that from you and not pay you."

Hazelle pulls the plug from the drain and turns to face me. She dries her hands on my towel and places one hand on each of my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes. "Katniss, you need to get out. You need to have a life. Go to the movies with Gale, take Posy shopping, go on a few dates." I grimace, which she ignores. "You are too young and too special to throw your life away like this."

She moves her hands and pulls the sprayer head out of the sink, rinsing away the soap that's been left behind. "Besides," she says, "your mom and I used to be friends once, and I've been missing that. It might do us both some good to spend time with another woman our own age. I need a chance to get away from all these boys, anyway."

I still don't like it and I don't like the feeling that I would be owing her so much. I decide on a compromise. "Fine," I say, "but I'm helping out around your house whenever I can. I know these boys aren't much for house cleaning or chores."

She smiles. "Deal."

Gale comes back in with Rory close on his heels. "Your truck's all ready to go," he says, tossing the keys to me, which I just manage to catch before they fall.

"Thanks Gale. You too, Rory."

"No problem."

I glance at Dad's watch. "Well, I guess I better be getting home and get Mom her food." Hazelle hands me the leftovers which she's already packaged up for me in a nice container.

"I'll walk you out," Gale says.

He follows me back to the garage. "Hey, seeing you with Posy today reminded me that I wanted to ask you something."

I sigh. "Is this about skiing again? Because I already told you I can't afford - "

He interrupts me with a wave of his hand. "No, it's not about that, even though I still wish you'd come with us sometime. No, I wanted to ask you about Prim's bike."

I feel my stomach twist. "What about her bike?" I ask, opening the door to the truck to get in.

"I was wondering if you would consider giving it to Posy, when the snow melts."

Instantly, anger boils up inside me, my hand clenching on the door handle. "No. No way, Gale."

He looks genuinely confused. "What? Why not? It's just sitting there in your basement gathering cobwebs. And Posy could really use a new one."

"Because, Gale, it's Prim's," I protest, angrily.

"Katniss, Prim is gone," he says, his voice getting louder. "She's not coming back, and even if by some miracle she did, it would be too small for her now."

I shake my head furiously, my braid whipping from side to side with the motion. I know Prim's gone and I know she's probably dead, but that's not the point. "No. It's Prim's and it's not going anywhere."

Gale whirls away from me, his fists clenching at his sides. After a moment, he turns back. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he glares at me.

"You know, Katniss," he says, fighting to keep his voice even. "I've been really considerate of your feelings since Prim disappeared. For six years, I have let you do whatever you wanted, let you mope around, feeling sorry for yourself. But I'm fucking sick of it. I'm not going to do it anymore."

I slam the truck door and step angrily towards him. "_Mope around?!"_ I scream up into his face. "You call mourning my missing sister _moping around_? I think I've got a pretty fucking good reason to be upset!"

"No one's disputing that, Katniss. But she's been gone a long time," Gale shouts, throwing up his hands in frustration. "Six years she's been gone and you haven't even moved her diary from under her pillow. You haven't packed her stuff into boxes. You haven't put her bike away, or given it to someone who could use it, or sold it for some extra cash, even though you can barely afford to scrape by! I don't see why you can't let Posy have it. She's your family, too, you know!"

I shake my head furiously. "It's not the same. Prim was my real sister!" Angry tears spring to my eyes.

Gale takes a step backward and looks at me like I'm just hit him with a baseball bat. His mouth makes a thin line as he fights back whatever angry retort he's got in mind. "Yes, Prim was your real sister," he says slowly, fighting to keep control of his anger, "but we're your family, too, and _your sister_ wouldn't want you to waste your life this way."

I blink furiously, digging my nails into my palms to keep the tears from spilling over. Without another word, I stride over to the truck and yank the door open again, throwing myself inside and turning the key in the ignition.

"Open the fucking garage door or I'm going through it!" I shout at him through the windshield. His eyes not leaving mine, he lashes out with one of his big hands to punch the opener beside him. The door powers slowly upward, and I wait just long enough for it to clear the cab of the truck before gunning it in reverse down the driveway and into the night.

My tears finally get the best of me once I'm out of his sight. Despite my best efforts to stay calm, sobs start to wrack my chest. Soon I can barely breathe and I certainly can't see the road, my eyes obscured with angry tears.

I pull over to the curb, slamming the gear shifter into park before collapsing angrily against the steering wheel.

_Fucking Gale. _Where does he think he gets the right to tell me what I can and can't do with Prim's things? He doesn't understand, he can't possibly understand. He has three siblings, all alive and well, and he could never in a million years understand the overwhelming despair I feel without Prim, without knowing where she is.

How the fuck am I supposed to move on? My sister is lost and most likely dead, cold and buried. Her things - her bedroom and her diary and her music, exactly as she left it that day - are all that I have left of her and I can't bear to even think of parting with them. I can't touch them, or move them, or give them away. I can barely stand to go into her room to clean.

I try so hard not to let this emptiness get the best of me, but missing her never goes away. Hunched over the steering wheel, I let myself cry, and slowly, my breathing returns to normal. I wipe my eyes on my scarf and take two deep, steadying breaths.

Suddenly, someone raps against my window and I jump. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I look up to see probably one of the last people I would have expected - Peeta Mellark.

What is he doing here? Sniffling, trying to hide my tears from him, I reach over and painstakingly roll down the window. The crank is stiff, but eventually I get it down and the cool night air rushes in.

He's wearing light winter running gear: a tight, long sleeved shirt with the Under Armour logo in the center of his chest, and a pair of light sweat pants. He's got a knitted hat pulled down over his ears to protect against the wind, with bits of his wavy blonde hair peeking out from underneath. Through the fabric of his shirt, I can see the curve of his biceps; he's really well muscled, something that wasn't visible through his suits on all the other occasions that I've seen him. His waist is impossibly narrow. Nope, his self-professed love of pastries certainly hasn't had any ill effect on his physique.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him, hoping my voice sounds normal.

He looks down at himself and his strange outfit. "I would've thought that was obvious," he says jokingly.

_Oh_. "Uh, yeah, I guess it is," I answer, feeling stupid. "Do you live around here?"

He grins and cocks an eyebrow at me. "Is there such a thing as _not_ 'around here' in this tiny little town?"

"You know what I mean," I say with a scowl.

He laughs. "Yeah, sorry. I live on Merchant Avenue."

Okay, that's not too far from here, but it still seems a little strange that he would run this way. Seam Street is an older neighborhood, and if he wanted scenery, the houses on Capitol Drive would have made a much prettier backdrop. Was he hoping to run into me? The thought would normally freak me out, but to my surprise I feel a pleasant leap in my stomach at the thought of him going out of his way to try to see me.

I hope he didn't see my breakdown a few moments before. "How long were you watching me?"

"Not long," he assures me. "I just happened to look in the window as I was passing and saw that it was you. You're parked in kind of a strange place; is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," I snap. "Are you going to arrest me or something?"

He laughs again. "No, nothing like that. But I _am_ glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask if I could come talk to your mom."

I blink, confused. _My mom? _"Why? She's not really... herself. Ever since Prim disappeared."

He nods. "It's okay, but I do need to speak with her, or at least try. And then I can maybe take a look through Prim's stuff and see if there's anything important there?"

I guess it makes sense that he would need to talk to Mom. It's probably going to be fairly useless, considering she maybe says ten words to me in a day, even if we're both home the whole time, but he's welcome to try. I'm less than excited about the idea of him going through Prim's stuff but I guess it's necessary. And like I'd said to Gale without thinking during our argument, I don't know why, but I really do trust him.

"Okay."

He smiles at me, and suddenly I can't help but notice just how close he is. He's leaning his forearms against my door and our faces are only a few inches away from each other. My eyes dart down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes.

I realize he's said something to me. "What?" I ask, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks.

He fights a smile. "I said, when is your next weekday off?"

"Next Wednesday," I answer. "A week from today."

"Okay, I'll come over then, around 1 p.m. again?"

I nod. "Um, sure. that works, I guess."

"Great. And I'll be interviewing Rory Hawthorne this Friday, like I said on the phone the other day."

My anger flares up again at the mention of Rory. "Good luck dealing with his asshole brother," I retort without thinking.

"I thought you were friends with that whole family," he says, his brow furrowing. "Didn't you say Gale was your friend?"

I shrug. "I guess you could call him that," I answer begrudgingly. _If I forgive him for what he said to me today._

His face falls slightly but I don't have the faintest idea why. Just as quickly as it came, the expression is gone. I can't be sure it was even really there.

"Um, I better get home," I say, gesturing towards the passenger seat. "I have my mom's dinner in here."

"Oh yeah, I'll let you go." He pushes himself away from the door, taking a step away from the truck. "It was nice running into you," he says with a smile. "When are you working next?"

"Tomorrow," I answer, starting the painstaking process of winding up my window.

His grin widens. "Well, maybe I'll see you there."

I nod as I finish rolling up the window, and hold up a hand to him in farewell as I pull away from the curb. Watching him in my rearview mirror, I see him move back to the sidewalk and continue on his run, his legs and arms pumping rhythmically as he moves.

And it isn't until I pull back into the driveway in front of my house that I realize that I had almost forgotten all about my fight with Gale, and that I've got a huge smile plastered across my face.

* * *

**A/N: ****Thank you to our beta sunfishdunes and pre-readers jennagill and desertginger, as well as each and every single one of you for reading and commenting. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if I could give you all a kiss, I would!**

**Next chapter, we'll hear from that new cop that Katniss absolutely does not have a crush on, thank-you-very-much, so stay tuned! We're on tumblr, so come drop us a line; I'm madefrommemoriesff, and my genius co-conspirators are soamazinghere and loveforpanem.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Today is the big day.

Well, "big day" may be stretching it a bit, but I did actually get the go-ahead from Haymitch to officially reopen Prim's case and start the questioning of more people. He liked how my interview with Katniss went, and gave me the green light to proceed. Unfortunately, this will not be the kind of interrogation I always envisioned when I would daydream of my future career. Before, I always thought I'd be breaking down some hardened criminal, getting confessions left and right, and maybe even make a few of them so sorry for what they did, they'd just repent all of their sins and find Jesus right then.

But instead of my daydreams, I find myself talking to a college kid who was eliminated as a suspect six years ago. This is more like what I have come to understand detective work to really be like. I received a call from Rory Hawthorne yesterday. I had called his home earlier in the week, requesting to meet him somewhere to ask a few questions about the Primrose Everdeen case. Nothing formal, as we don't see him as a suspect, or even a person of interest. Really, what I wanted to find out was what Prim was like from a person who wasn't her sister. Not that I wouldn't mind talking to her sister again, but that's beside the point.

Yesterday, right before I left the station for the evening, Rory called and said he would agree to meet with me today. I was even more surprised when he requested to do it at the station. Most people are a little intimidated by the formality here and usually prefer someplace neutral like a coffee shop or their home. But he said that he wanted to keep it official, and that he had nothing to hide. I can respect that, and it makes things easier for me.

He also said that his brother Gale would be joining him. I'm not sure why Rory's brother would need to be there, but if the moral support helps him, then who am I to say no when he is doing this for me, just to help the case?

It's already getting late on this Friday afternoon, but he said his last class was at two o'clock and he was driving in from Pittsburgh. Which gives me just enough time to let my mind wander to where it usually does lately: Katniss.

I know I should let it go, but I just keep replaying every conversation she and I have ever had, over and over in my head. My first interview with her, her phone call last Monday, accidentally running into her on Seam Street while I was jogging (okay, that one may have been intentional). Hell, I even think about that time she tried to attack me. How messed up is that?

I need to cool it. And I keep reminding myself that I need to keep this strictly professional, but dammit, those grey eyes have me hooked. Everytime I look at her and see her stone-like facade, her eyes give her away and I can see the million different little things running through her mind. She's hard to read, but I can tell there's more than what she's letting on, and sometimes they they reveal more than she ever intended. Like, the other day when I saw her in her car, I could have sworn I saw her staring at my mouth while I was talking. At least, I hope she was. And I hope she didn't notice me staring at hers.

Just as I'm about to let my thoughts lead to less innocent images of Katniss, the elevator doors open and I see two very tall, very handsome, dark haired men walk out. It's obvious they're brothers, but with their hair, skin tone, and eye color, they look like they could be Katniss's family, too.

I walk over to them, make eye contact with the younger of the two, and extend my hand to greet him. "Hi, you must be Rory Hawthorne. I'm Detective Mellark, it's nice to finally meet you."

After shaking his hand, I turn to the older one and do the same, "You're Gale, right?"

He takes my hand and grips it a little harder than I was expecting. When he finally lets go, I hide my hand while flexing my fingers to make sure nothing is broken, and I point them in the direction of the interrogation room.

I conjure up my most professional voice, "I'd like to thank you for coming in today. I know that you both have been through this several times before and under different circumstances, but today is just strictly for information purposes only. No one is being accused of anything, and if at any time you don't feel comfortable answering anymore questions, you are free to go."

"Also, I must disclose that this conversation is being recorded. Since you requested to be questioned here, the only available area to talk is the interrogation room, and it's under surveillance at all times."

Rory speaks for the first time, "That's fine. I told you, I have nothing to hide."

He turns away from me and walks into the room and sits in the suspect's chair. It kind of pains me that this nice young man knows better than I do how this process goes.

I turn to Gale, hoping he takes the hint that he's not following us in, "There's coffee in the small kitchen right over there and there are some chairs in the hallway where you can wait. Feel free to make yourself comfortable."

I turn to walk in the room with Rory, when I feel a hand on my arm and Gale pulling me back into the hallway. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment I'm not sure what's going on, "Was there something else you needed?" I ask him. I'm sure the look on my face lets him know I want an answer.

He drops his hand from my arm and clears his throat. "Yeah, look, I just want to remind you what a delicate situation you're working with here. Rory was so young when this happened. He's already been through so much, we all have, especially Katniss. We all lost someone special that day. Just remember, you're working with a lot of hurt people and the little girl who's dead." He grits his teeth and corrects himself when he continues, "The little girl who went missing. She's a person and not just something to help your career. You got it?"

I could tell by his tone, this wasn't really a question but a threat. I clench my jaw tightly. I'm annoyed that he automatically accused me of just trying to advance my career, but I realize he's hurting. They're all hurting. This case has gone unsolved for almost years and everyone wants answers. I hold his gaze for a long moment before replying calmly but firmly, "I got it." He looks at me briefly before nodding curtly and turning towards the kitchen.

I wait until I see him pouring himself a cup of coffee and walk into the interrogation room with Rory. I place my file on the table and pull a pen out of my pocket before sitting down across from him. Unlike Rory, this is my first time sitting at the small, bolted down, stainless steel table. I've only ever glanced at this room before. The walls are covered in a textured grey foam both for acoustics and so that suspects can't hurt themselves in here. I can see why some people find this room intimidating, but Rory looks completely at ease. His hands are folded in front of him and his posture is relaxed. It settles me somewhat and I open my file and take out the legal pad I keep in there. I look up at the camera in the corner of the room, take a deep breath, and prepare myself mentally to start.

I smile and start his questioning. "So Rory, I just wanted to start by thanking you again for taking the time to come in here today. Also, I need to repeat that you are being recorded and that you can leave at anytime. You are under no legal obligation to be here. Could you confirm that you understand?"

Rory shifts in his seat, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes, I understand, and I don't mind coming in here today."

"Great, this shouldn't take long. So, currently, you're going to the University of Pittsburgh, is that right?"

"Yes, I'm majoring in mechanical engineering."

"That sounds pretty demanding and expensive."

"Thanks, it's taken a lot of work to get to where I am. I'm there on scholarships. My family couldn't really afford it otherwise. Gale had to do the same."

"Your brother is an engineer, too?"

"He's an environmental engineer. It's different, but still an expensive program."

"You guys sound like you're from a very smart and driven family. That's pretty impressive. Do you think Prim would have gone to college?"

I can see he's a little taken back by my question, but again, I'm just trying to get a feel for who she was, maybe it will lead me somewhere. "I do. She was always helping animals. I think she would have made a good veterinarian. She could have been a doctor if she wanted. She was so smart." He smiles, "I remember one time, when we were in elementary school together, there was a kid that got a skinned knee on the playground and she begged the teacher to let her put on the band-aid. She was never scared of blood. She wasn't like the other girls, she was special."

I make notes on my legal pad about her helping animals. Could someone have lured her away from the center by saying they needed help? It happens all of the time. I continue with my questioning.

"So, you two went school together, is that how your families know each other so well? It seems like the Everdeens and Hawthornes are very close."

"Our families go back further than that. Our dads worked together at the coal mine; they were in the same accident."

My own curiosity gets the better of me. "What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't mind, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?" He asks, giving a weak smile. "We think that they got into an area saturated in Methane, and the whole thing went up. The company they worked for was notorious for faulty equipment and their sensors probably didn't go off. But, when our families went to court to fight them and tried to get settlements, they won and we didn't get a penny. They even said it was the miners' faults. It left all the families with nothing. It made Gale and Katniss grow up really quick. Both our moms were completely devastated. My mom was pregnant with my little sister Posy and Mrs. Everdeen just spaced out. Katniss practically raised Prim and Gale kind of stepped in as our dad. We all looked out for each other, though."

"I'm so sorry for your loss." I pause for a moment before moving on. "So, you and Prim were always close, being the same age and both in this situation?"

"I wouldn't say we were always close. We were little when it happened. I'm sure when we were younger, one or the other had a case of the cooties. Plus, I don't think she and I were as close and Katniss and Gale were. Well, are, really."

For some reason my stomach drops. I know that right now is absolutely not the appropriate time to ask, but dammit, I have him here, so I'm going for it. "So, Katniss and Gale used to date, or are dating now?"

Suddenly, the quiet room is filled with the loud bark Rory's laughter. Startled, I look on with wide eyes waiting for him to finish.

"I'm sorry," he tells me while wiping a small tear from his eye, "if you saw them together, you would know just how funny that is. I think Gale tried to kiss her once when they were in high school, but that did not go over well. I'm pretty sure she punched him in the balls for doing it."

I let out a chuckle of relief. I don't think I'm unattractive, but from what I just saw, Gale looks like he might be a tough act to follow. Wait, what the fuck am I thinking about? I can't keep thinking about Katniss like this. I shouldn't be concerned with who she's dating, I need to focus on questioning Rory. Get it together, Mellark.

"Okay, forget I asked. But let's go back to you and Prim. You two were dating at the time of her disappearance, right?"

He shakes his head, "No, we weren't. The cops thought we were, but I hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask it yet. In fact, that last phone conversation we had, the one the day she disappeared, I was going to ask her out. I was just too nervous. I chickened out. And now, I'll never know if she was going to say yes or no. I'll never stop regretting that." He looks down at his hands that are now in his lap. "She was my first love."

I cringe at my follow-up question, "I'm sorry... I have to ask, but before that, had you ever tried anything with her?"

He raises his head and looks at me like he's disgusted by my question. I feel disgusting for even asking it. "What, you mean like sexually? I was 14 years old, I was too nervous to even hold her hand, let alone kiss her or do anything else. Everything between us was very innocent. We were just kids."

I make a few more notes and change the subject, "What about friends? Was she popular in school? Did she keep to herself?"

"Oh, everyone loved her. She had a couple of girlfriends that she hung out with, but it's hard to remember their names, it was so long ago." He scratches his head and rests both hands on top of his head. I'm glad to see he is more relaxed, again. "I think there was an Amanda and Becca she used to talk to, but I'm sorry, I didn't have any classes with them so I don't really remember much about them. But really, she didn't have too much time outside of school for anyone. She and Katniss were so close; I know she just looked forward to going home and seeing her sister everyday. I've never seen two sisters who were as close as those two were. They snipped and fought with each other like other siblings, but they both just loved each other so much and were so appreciative to have each other, I don't think they ever stayed mad at each other for very long." He chuckles, "It was much different at our house. Don't get me wrong, we all love each other, but my brothers and I would fight like cats and dogs. We'd wrestle and throw punches. I feel bad for Posy having to grow up with us."

I chuckle too, "I'm pretty sure that's how all brothers are. I have two brothers, too. I'm pretty sure we've all given each other a black eye at some point. And all three of us were on the wrestling team in high school. I'm not really sure how we had any furniture in our house with the three of us going at each other."

Rory smiles at me. I hope I've earned his trust today.

After making a few last notes, I place my notepad in my folder and set it to the side. "Well, Rory, that's pretty much all I had for you. Is there anything else you want to add or feel like might help the case? Is there anyone you suspect?"

"No, I can't think of anyone that could have done that to Prim. I wouldn't even know where to start. But, there is something that has always bothered me."

Leaning forward, I give him my full attention. "And what's that?"

"No offense, but I never thought the cops did enough for her. I always felt like they could be doing more, but they just kind of dropped the ball. I know that there were searches, but those were led by the community, not the cops."

He runs his hand through his hair. It seems like he's fighting back years of frustration, "It's like they knew there was something more to this, but they would avoid it and waste their time on other suspects, like me. There were literally 30 people that could vouch for my whereabouts the day of her disappearance. I was at soccer practice. People were watching me play, and they kept coming back to me. It made no sense. Gale was even considered a suspect at one point, but he was at his job during break from college and there were video cameras. I don't think Haymitch is a bad detective, but I just always had a bad feeling about all of this. But, I'm glad you're doing this. She deserves to have someone look into this again."

He stands and holds his hand out to me. I take it and shake his hand in parting. "You know, I think Katniss is right about trusting you. Just, for everyone's sake, don't let her down."

* * *

A few days after my interview with Rory, I started making a list of the other people I felt that I should talk to. I tracked down the Amanda and Becca that Prim was friends with, but nothing really came of it. I also had the chance to speak with a few of Prim's teachers, including Annie, which is actually why I'm walking over to Finnick's office now.

I lightly tap on the door frame before walking in. "Hey man, you got a second?"

Finnick glances up at me for a moment before turning his attention back to his computer screen and never stops typing. "Yeah, have a seat. Let me just finish this. It'll be quick." The phone's also ringing, but he never makes a move to answer it, so I let it go.

I look around his office while patiently waiting for him. The only things on his wall are his degree in criminal justice from Pitt and a family portrait of him, Annie, and Patrick on the beach. They are all dressed in white and khaki, and if one of the people in the picture wasn't sitting in front of me, I would have thought it was just the picture that came in the frame or a Ralph Lauren ad.

The typing has finally ceased and I see Finnick out of the corner of my eye and face him when I notice he is looking at me. "Kinda cheesy, right? We took it last summer when we went on vacation. We spent a week on the beach. I would move to the coast in a heartbeat if it weren't for our families being up here. I think it would be good for Annie, too. She always seems more at peace by the ocean."

We sit silently for a moment looking at the picture, and for me, it starts to become uncomfortable. Then I remember the real reason I came in his office to begin with. "Speaking of Annie, how is she? She seemed to handle the questioning okay the other day. It hasn't bothered her since then, has it?"

His head is resting in his hand and he's still staring at the picture. "We're getting a boat when I retire and Annie and I are setting sail. Maybe start out in the Keys or Bahamas or something."

"That's great, really. But how is Annie now?"

"Huh? Oh, she's fine. Actually, she's doing a lot better than I thought she would be. Maybe talking about it helped her." He straightens up at his desk. "Was that all you wanted to know? I'm actually pretty busy today."

"No, I wanted to talk to you about my interview with Mrs. Everdeen this afternoon. I'm not exactly sure which way to go on this. Mostly, I know we're just going to get some background information on Prim, but I also saw that it was mentioned she was dating someone named Mitchell at the time. No one ever talked to him. He had a pretty solid alibi since he was on camera working his shift at the pharmacy with Ms. Everdeen, but I thought it might be worth asking."

Finnick shrugs his shoulder, "You can ask her about it, but it's not going to do much good. Mitch died a couple of years ago from a heart attack. He was was a good guy. No one thought he had anything to do with Prim's disappearance. I don't think Katniss and Prim's mom dated him for very long, either. She was barely a person when she was dating him, and after Prim was gone, she went back to zoning out. It's weird seeing her work; like she'll talk to you, but she has these weird dead eyes that just look through you, like you aren't there. She kind of freaks me out, so glad you're talking to her and not me."

"Thanks for the infomation, I guess. But where do you think I should go with this?"

He's just about to answer me when we hear Haymitch buzz in on the intercom system on Finnick's desk phone. "Odair, get your ass in my office, I want to talk to you. Bring the boy in with you."

Finnick and I both give each other the same confused look and make our way to Haymitch's office.

"Close the door behind you and have a seat." Haymitch grumbles as he slams his bottom desk drawer closed. It's no secret that's where he keeps his stash of liquor. It must be whisky today - the stench of alcohol is strong in the room and on his breath. It never stops making Finnick and me mad. I can see the look on his face showing the same disapproval I have. But we both take our seats and wait for the old man to speak.

"Just got a call from Darius over in Wheeling about a girl they found murdered in his area. Her name was Madge Undersee, she's a politician's daughter. He's going to email over her picture in just a little bit. We may need to canvass at some point."

I'm sitting at the edge of my seat and practically bursting at the seams. I've been included in information on an active case, which has never happened before. I take this as a subtle hint that Haymitch is trusting me more as a detective. I look over at Finnick, trying to keep my excitement under control, and he looks particularly uninterested in any of the news.

Finnick's pretty flippant when he speaks. "What does this have to do with us? Why are they crossing state lines from West Virginia to Pennsylvania? Do they think it's someone in our area? Was she seen here?"

"I'm getting to that, calm the fuck down Odair." I can see the glassiness in Haymitch's eyes; whatever Darius had to tell him must have bothered him. He's hit the bottle a little harder than usual today. "What I was going to tell you is that while Darius was working the case, he got an anonymous tip saying there was a brand new black Range Rover swerving and driving erratically near the suspected murder site. The SUV had a Pennsylvania plate and they got enough of the numbers to track it to Coriolanus Snow. It's all circumstantial right now, but it's enough for them to bring him in for questioning. But, of course, Snow being the piece of shit lawyer he is, gets to come in whenever he feels like it. They don't even get to talk to him for another week. So, while they're waiting for him to be questioned, Darius asked us to keep an eye on him and to watch to see if he does anything suspicious."

Haymitch and Finnick share a pointed look; I'm so tired of them having these little internal conversations and keeping me out of them. "What? Do you two know this guy or something?"

Finnick sighs, "Yeah, Snow is a retired lawyer. He was one of those who could find the smallest loophole in a case, the smallest piece of doubt, and get someone off with no charges. If you had the money to pay him, you weren't going to jail. There was this one case he had, where the guy was obviously guilty, but he somehow got his case cleared and that motherfucker Snow even got the victim's family to apologize for accusing his client." He reclines back in his chair and releases an uncomfortable chuckle. "It was beyond fucked up and he was a police officer's worst nightmare. You prayed you followed every single protocol, because if you didn't, Snow would somehow find out. Even if they do somehow link Snow to this girl's murder, nothing will happen to him. Not while Crane is here. Almost everyone on Capitol Drive has immunity while Crane is in charge."

Haymitch gets an uncharacteristic wry grin on his face. "Speaking of Crane, word going around is that he's on his way out."

Finnick's eyes grow wide as saucers; this is the first time I've seen him excited here. "Are you serious? Those bribery charges were real?"

Haymitch nods, "Yup. Someone caught him, for something stupid, too; a speeding ticket. He thought it was so simple and he got cocky. You can't let shit like that go when you have so many people wanting you out and watching your every move. Chaff told me earlier today, he should be out by the end of this week, maybe even in jail if we're lucky. They're holding an emergency election as soon as possible."

"Is Heavensbee up for the nomination?"

"He's the frontrunner. Which would be very good news for us. He doesn't play into all of the bullshit Crane did. It's good news for you, too, kid."

My eyes dart between the two, thoroughly confused, "What are you talking about, how it this good news for me?"

"Well, when the Everdeen case was first being worked, we ran into a lot of red tape and roadblocks because of Crane. If we wanted to question anyone on Capitol Drive, we had to go through him first, and it was always refused. He's been so deep in all of this for so long, we've forgotten what it's like to actually be able to do our job." Haymitch's eyes then harden. "You can't say any of this to anyone. Especially anyone involved in the Everdeen case. I don't want to give that girl Katniss any false hope. We still have work to do on that. Also, no one is supposed to know until its been officially announced. So keep your mouth shut, you got me, kid?"

"Yes, sir," I answer solemnly.

"Good." He looks down at his watch. "Don't you have a questioning at 2 o'clock? You're going to be late. Get the hell out of here."

* * *

I pull up to the Everdeen's just a few minutes before our appointment. I sigh in relief; I can't stand being late. Luckily, Seam Street is less than three minutes away from the station and I probably could have walked here if I'd had more time. The weather is nice enough today for another run tonight.

Before I even turn off the car, Katniss is already walking outside. I grab my satchel and swing it across my chest before getting out of the car, meeting her halfway on the small sidewalk leading up to her front door. The early afternoon sunlight is making her grey eyes practically glow and it's still cool enough that her nose is a little red from the temperature. I want to tell her how beautiful she looks and it kills me that I can't. Her hair is in it's customary braid and she's just wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans, but to me, she's perfect.

I let out a small puff of air and can see my breath before I speak, "Hey, is everything okay?"

She nods, putting her hands up to her mouth to warm them. "Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you before we go in."

"Sure, what's going on? Is your mom still able to do the interview?"

"Yes, but I just wanted to warn you. She's not having a good day. I had to practically drag her downstairs this morning. She's just kind of been staring off into the distance, so if she doesn't really say much, I just want to apologize in advance."

I close the space between us and place my hand on her shoulder. She shies away from the touch at first and I'm worried that it may be inappropriate. "Katniss, you don't need to apologize. I really appreciate any information I can get. If she's not able to talk today, at least we can still look at Prim's room and I can always come back if you see your mom having a better day some other time. It's not a big deal. This is just for information purposes."

"Okay. Then come on in."

While the street outside may be run down, the inside of Katniss's house is very clean and well-kept. The home is modestly furnished, and though it's easily been 20 years since anything's been updated, it smells nice in here - like pine and citrus. She points me in the direction of a small dining room table. "You can set up your stuff here, if you'd like. I'm going to go get my mom out of the living room."

I smile and start to unload my bag, getting out my legal pad and Prim's file, when suddenly, I feel the weight of two heavy paws pushing against my lower back. I'm pushed forward into the table and hear a loud bark.

"Lady! Get down!" Katniss yells from the doorway. I turn around quickly and take in a medium sized dog wagging her tail and trying to jump back up on me. Getting down on my knees, I start scratching behind her ears.

"It's no problem, I love dogs. She's not bothering me at all." I'm getting covered in kisses at this point, but really, I don't mind. I miss our old family dog, and unfortunately, I've been too busy to even think about getting a pet.

Katniss comes by and lightly tugs on Lady's collar. "Come on girl, you need to get on your bed." I watch a slightly defeated Lady walk over to her dog bed in the corner of the room. "Sorry about that, she's normally not like that with new people."

I stand up, wiping dog hair off my sweater. "Really, I meant it when I said it was okay. She must have known I like dogs." I smile at her, then turn my attention to a small, older woman, with pale skin and even paler blonde hair. She barely looks coherent and I get what Finnick was talking about when I look into her eyes. I've obviously never seen a zombie in real life, but I'm pretty sure it's similar to what I'm seeing right now.

I hold my hand out to her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Everdeen, I'm Detective Peeta Mellark. Thank you for meeting with me."

She takes my hand and the small squeeze she gives me is barely noticeable. Her skin feels paper thin and there is a slight tremor to her touch. I help lead her to the chair across from where I plan on sitting.

Katniss brings in some water for all of us to drink and I start out with some easy questions. Does she remember what Prim was wearing that day. If she could think of any place Prim might have gone to while waiting for Katniss. I felt bad when I asked this question, immediately seeing a pained look on Katniss's face. I also asked if there was anyone that she suspected. Her answers were short and it often took a little time to get her attention or to get a response. But as we progressed, instead of becoming quieter, she actually opened up more and more, and dare I say, became a little hopeful. We even got her to laugh at a memory of Prim. I could see that Katniss was just as surprised as I was; I think we both expected her to shut down at some point.

I did ask her about Mitchell, but she insisted that he had nothing to do with it. She never even introduced him to the girls, and she wouldn't even consider what they had done as dating. They were just co-workers. But, what surprised me most was what came at the end of the interview.

Mrs. Everdeen looks at me, and for the first time today, her eyes don't seem clouded over, allowing me see her features clearly. I can see now where Katniss and Prim got their looks from. She used to be pretty at one time, before her life became unbearable. It's heartbreaking to know what all this family has been through.

"Detective Mellark, do you think that my daughter is still alive?"

A knot forms in my stomach and I can feel a burn rising up in my throat. What do I tell her? Am I honest and say that we believe her daughter has been dead for six years? Do I give her a false sense of hope and lie to her? So, I decide to go for the safe answer. "Mrs. Everdeen, with the lack of evidence this case has, I believe that anything is possible. I think we should prepare ourselves for the possibility of her being dead, but I promise you, that I will do my absolute best to find her."

The spark she had just a moment ago is gone, and her demeanor changes back to the closed off, melancholy expression she wore earlier. "Thank you so much for coming by today Detective Mellark, but if you will excuse me, I am very tired now. I'm going to go lay down."

She places a hand on Katniss's shoulder as she leaves. I'm not sure if it's a moment they are sharing, a silent understanding between two people both grieving, or simply her just trying to keep her balance while getting up. But Katniss closes her eyes and is quiet for a moment as her mother exits the room and slowly trudges her way up the creaky stairs.

I see a single tear run down Katniss's cheek, and my hand is halfway there to wipe it away before I jerk it back quickly as she opens her eyes when we hear her mother's bedroom door close.

She clears her throat, and looks away. I worry my bottom lip for a moment before asking, "Could we head upstairs to Prim's room? You said I could take a look around up there."

We're silent as we head down the hallway of the second floor and she opens up a door to a bright pink time capsule, or even worse, an overly cheery tomb. I walk through the door and see outdated posters from musicians and television shows from the year Prim disappeared. I look back and Katniss is still standing in the doorway with her arms protectively crossed in front of her. I can tell she's uncomfortable with me being in here. I walk back over to her and place my hand on her arm. This time she doesn't shy away, and I think I actually feel her lean in to the touch. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just, I know you know Prim is dead."

"Katniss, we can't be sure, she could still be out there."

"Peeta, I know you don't believe that. I don't either. But, thank you for giving my mother hope. She needed that." Her lips curl into a soft smile, "I can't believe she opened up to you today. That's the most I've seen her talk in years. It was nice to have my mom back for a little while. She trusts you."

The air is heavy between us, and I look into her eyes. If this were any other situation, if we had any other reason to be here with each other, I would kiss her. I want to so badly. I fight back the urge to lean into her, to take her face in my hands and capture her lips with mine. Her lips part slightly and she gently licks her bottom lip before running her teeth over it. My strength to fight is slowly deteriorating when Lady comes into the room and jumps up on me, placing herself between Katniss and me.

The moment is gone and I'm thankful for the dog stopping me before I ruined so much of what I have worked hard to accomplish.

I can feel the heat in my cheeks and instinctively run my hand over the back of my neck then into my hair. My embarrassment must just be radiating off of me and I quickly look away from Katniss and focus my attention on Lady.

"Hey girl, did you just want to help?" I pat her head and back away slowly so she knows to get down.

I exhale deeply and continue looking around the room. I'm afraid to look Katniss in the eye now. I'm such a fool, how could I have let myself get so close?

I start to get a feel for the kind of girl Prim was. She seems to be the exact opposite of her sister. Prim's room is filled with pink, ruffles, and flowers. I can't see any of these things being up Katniss's alley. I walk by and open up a little CD player and am faced with a Jonas Brothers CD. I snort in amusement and close the lid. The room is tidy and nothing really sticks out at me, until I turn my attention to the small, neatly made bed. Sticking out from underneath a pillow is a pink, glittery journal. I pick it up and open it. It's just a young girl's diary, but it could hold some information. To be honest, I can't believe the previous officers didn't take it in as evidence.

I hold up the small book in my hand and turn to ask Katniss if it's okay that I take it. Before I can even get the question out, she yanks it out of my hand and holds it tightly to her chest. "Don't touch this."

I recoil at the firmness in her voice. "Katniss, I might need that. There could be some information in there about someone who might have taken her."

Her fire is back and the woman who just a moment before looked like she wanted to kiss me, seems to have nothing but fear and anger in her eyes when she speaks. "I said don't touch this. It's the last thing she wrote before she died. I'm not giving this up."

"Katniss, you have to let it go. What if she names her killer in there? Have you read it? Do you know for sure that there isn't anything in there?"

"It's her private diary, I would never betray her trust like that! You don't need this, just leave it alone!" Her voice is loud and trembling.

I'm just about to fire back at her when my phone rings. This could not come at worse time, but I have to take it. I hold my finger up to show that I need just a second. Finnick's name flashes on the screen. He's probably wondering what's taking me so long over here. I keep it formal so she doesn't think it's a personal call.

"Detective Mellark speaking."

On the other end, I hear a frantic Finnick. "Peeta, I need you wrap things up and come down to the hospital as soon as possible. Something has happened to Annie."

* * *

**Author's Note: A great big ol' thank you to our beta sunfishdunes and pre-readers desertginger and jennagill. This chapter was truly a group effort. Also, thank you to everyone that has been and continues to read, review, and rec this story. We absolutely appreciate everyone of you.**

**Prim is up next, and just to let ya'll know, I've already read the first draft and I'm really excited for you guys to read it!**

**Come follow us on tumblr! I'm loveforpanem and the lovely ladies I write with are madefrommemoriesff and soamazinghere. **


	10. Chapter 10

I'm not sure I should be watching this - I've done enough damage here already - but I can't make myself stop. As frightened as I am about what might happen if I watch, my curiosity has gotten the better of me.

Tonight Peeta's going to question Annie about my disappearance. Along with all the rest of my teachers, she was questioned six years ago when it happened...but that was before I appeared in her classroom. Before she had a breakdown and fled Panem.

Finnick insisted on getting Patrick out of the house during the questioning, just to be safe. I can tell he's not happy that she agreed to talk to Peeta. All he's been doing since he found out is trying to talk her out of it. He doesn't want her to lose herself again, and he definitely doesn't want Patrick to be around to see it happen.

I've been sitting here for awhile now, idly listening to Finnick and Annie doing everything they apparently need to do to get a four-year-old ready for an overnight trip to Grandma and Grandpa's house. "How many pairs of underwear did you pack for him?" Annie demands, rifling through a small duffle bag sitting on Patrick's bed.

"Um, one?" Finnick says in confusion as he and his son play with legos in the corner of the room. "He'll be back tomorrow."

"One?" she asks, looking up in surprise. "No, no, no. If you only pack one, he'll end up having accidents all over Mom and Dad's house." Annie shakes her head as she walks to the dresser and adds three more pairs.

"Mommy, come play with us," Patrick whines.

"In a few minutes," Annie replies absently as she searches through a pile of stuffed animals on the floor near the bed. "Where's his green monkey?" she mumbles quietly.

"Mommy, I want you to play with us _right now_!" Patrick yells. He knocks over the lego tower he and Finnick were building and runs to the bed, grabbing the duffle bag and emptying it onto the floor.

"Patrick!" Finnick exclaims, jumping to his feet. I can hear the patter of footsteps running down the hallway, followed by a door slamming shut. Finnick starts to follow him, but Annie stops him with a hand on his arm.

"Don't bother. He'll be out in a few minutes when he realizes we're not giving him any attention." She sighs and bends down to the floor, beginning to re-pack the overnight bag.

Finnick leans against the wall, running a hand through his hair. He looks down at his wife where she's kneeling and refolding Patrick's clothes for tomorrow. "Annie, you don't have to do this, you know."

"Yes, I do," she responds immediately, never looking up.

"No, you _don't_," Finnick counters emphatically, crouching down next to Annie. "Peeta will still be able to work on the case, even if you - "

Annie shakes her head vehemently. "I'm not doing this for Peeta," she says, looking him in the eyes. "I'm doing this for _Prim_."

"You've got to stop feeling like you owe something to a dead girl, Annie," Finnick interjects angrily. "You need to stay well for your family. It's not just you this time; now you have Patrick, too. You don't want him to see you like..."

Annie's head snaps up abruptly. "Like what?" she challenges.

Finnick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "You know what happened six years ago," he finally says quietly. He sighs and stands, pulling Annie with him.

"I can take care of myself, Finnick. I'm better now."

"I know," he agrees, drawing her into his chest and wrapping his arms around her. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head and murmurs, "I just worry sometimes."

I nod my head in understanding. I'm worried too, of course - that's why I'm here watching right now.

From the time I've spent watching Peeta - which seems to happen more and more often these days - I know that Finnick has talked to him about taking it easy on Annie during the questioning. I don't think Annie knows that, and I'm not sure how she'd feel about it if she did, but I guess Finnick's just trying to do whatever he can to protect her. Peeta, of course, readily agreed to keep the questioning as short as possible.

As my attention drifts back to the Odair's house, I notice that everyone has moved downstairs. Finnick is helping Patrick put on his winter hat and coat, and the re-packed duffle bag sits ready by the front door. It must be almost time for Peeta to arrive.

As Finnick shrugs into his own coat, I hear him giving instructions to Annie. "You don't have to answer any questions if you don't want to, you know that, right?"

She crosses her arms over her chest and nods. "_I know_." From her slightly exasperated tone, I assume that Finnick's been over this with her several times already.

"And you can ask Peeta to end the questioning any time, alright? If you feel like you don't want to do it, then don't," he says, giving her a pleading look.

"I know," she repeats. Annie walks to the front door and crouches down, giving Patrick one last kiss. "Have fun with Grandma and Grandpa, okay? And be a good boy for Daddy," she finishes sternly.

Patrick wraps his little arms around her neck and squeezes. "I will, Mommy." Annie stands, lifting Patrick along with her.

Finnick walks towards the front door to grab the duffle bag and give Annie a quick kiss on the cheek. "Promise me you'll remember what I said?" he asks her.

She smiles reassuringly. "I will, I promise. And Finn...I know I can do this. I just - I _need_ to talk to him about Prim. Peeta's going to help find her."

As I look down on them from my perch by the lake, a sad smile plays across my lips. I wish I could thank Annie somehow for not giving up on me, for being willing to delve into her old memories even knowing how risky it might be. But I have to content myself with just passively watching over her...and praying that everything goes well tonight.

I see Peeta's car drive up and park on the street in front of the Odair house. Finnick must notice it as well, because he looks out the window and gives a quick wave to Peeta before turning back to his wife.

"You're sure you want to do this?" he asks. Annie just sighs in annoyance. "Fine, fine," he relents, taking Patrick from her arms.

With his free hand, Finnick reaches for the door and opens it just as Peeta's about to ring the doorbell, ushering him inside. "Come on in, Peeta. We're just heading out." He leans towards Annie and gives her a peck on the lips before heading to the door. "Call me when you finish," he says to Annie as he leaves.

After closing the front door, Annie greets Peeta with a quick hug and leads him into the cluttered but comfortable living room. Peeta clears his throat nervously as he walks behind her. "I'm sorry we have to talk about...all this," he apologizes.

She turns to him and gestures for him to sit on the couch. "Don't be; it's fine," she assures Peeta as she takes a seat in a nearby armchair.

I peer closely at Annie, trying to gauge for any signs of nervousness. She really seems fine; she doesn't appear tense or worried in the slightest. If anything, Peeta's the one who looks unsettled as he perches on the edge of the couch and rifles quickly through my case file, dropping several pages on the floor in the process.

"Sorry about that," he says as he reaches to the floor to grab the papers he dropped. "Just...trying to find...the notes from your last questioning," he mumbles as he continues shuffling through the papers. Annie smiles patiently and after a few moments, Peeta locates what he was looking for. "Here they are!" he says, holding up the pages triumphantly.

Annie folds her hands in her lap and looks at him expectantly. "So...where do we start?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Peeta starts to relax just a bit, maybe from seeing how at ease Annie appears to be. He leans against the back of the couch and reaches into his bag for his recorder. "Do you mind if I turn this on?" he asks, leaning forward to place it in front of him on the coffee table.

"That's fine."

"Great. Makes things easier for me," he chuckles nervously. He presses a button on the recorder. "It's on now." Peeta glances down at the notes in front of him, furrowing his brow as he reviews them quickly. "Let's just start at the beginning, okay? Can you tell me how long you knew Primrose, and what your relationship with her was?"

Annie shifts slightly in her seat. "I've known Prim most of her life. Since she was a baby, really. I grew up on Seam Street, did you know that already?" Peeta shakes his head and jots in his notebook. "Yeah, my parents still live near the Everdeens. I used to babysit for them when I was younger."

"What about closer to the time when Primrose disappeared? You worked at the middle school?"

"I did," Annie confirms. "I taught English there...I'd been teaching for about two years, I think, before Prim, uh," she trails off, biting her lip and looking away uncertainly. "Disappeared," she finishes with a sigh.

Peeta nods as he continues taking notes and periodically referring to my case file. "And you taught Primrose in her, um, last year?" he asks awkwardly.

Annie nods. "She was in my eighth grade English class."

I know that Peeta hasn't exactly asked her any difficult questions so far - neither of them have even broached the topic of my appearance to Annie at the school or her subsequent breakdown - but I'm relieved to see that Annie seems to be handling everything so well. Aside from her hands twisting nervously in her lap, she's acting remarkably normal.

Peeta takes a moment to look at Annie, almost as if he's doing the same thing as me: trying to make sure that she's really okay. He peers closely at her and asks, "Doing alright so far?"

She nods quickly and gives him a reassuring smile, which he gratefully returns.

From where I sit by the lake, my agitation is mounting despite Annie's seemingly calm demeanor. Peeta's just now starting to talk about Annie's life as a teacher; how can either of them be sure that she's ready to discuss what happened at the school? I bite my fingernails nervously as I scoot closer to get a better view.

"How often did you interact with Prim at school?" Peeta asks.

"I was only her teacher when she was in eighth grade," Annie explains. "I didn't know too much about Prim's school life outside of my English class."

"Okay, um," Peeta begins, jotting a note to himself, "did you know anything about her friends at school?"

Annie shakes her head. "Not really," she responds apologetically. "She didn't seem to be _close_ friends with anyone in my class. But she was friendly towards everyone," she adds.

Peeta nods slowly, picking up my file and reading silently through several pages. After a few minutes, he sets the papers aside and leans back in his seat. A conflicted look passes over his face briefly before he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and turns back to Annie. "Is there anything else - anything at all - that you want to tell me about Primrose?"

My eyes narrow in confusion. He's not going to ask her about what happened at the school?

Annie lets out a long sigh and purses her lips, staring off into the distance thoughtfully. Abruptly, she turns back to Peeta and blurts, "I think Prim's dead. I think she died really soon after she went missing."

Peeta gives her a puzzled look. "Why do you think that?" he asks her.

For the longest time, Annie doesn't speak or move. I don't really know how much time passes, but it's long enough that I start to get seriously alarmed before I see her shake her head, as if she's trying to clear unwanted thoughts out of her mind. She doesn't give Peeta a direct answer, though; she just shrugs and tells him softly, "I just...have a feeling Prim's not around anymore."

"Do you suspect someone of taking her? Was there anyone who might've wanted to hurt her?" Peeta asks.

"No, absolutely not," Annie responds vehemently. "Everyone loved Prim. No one who knew her would've wanted to hurt her." Her voice breaks slightly over these words. It's the first crack in her shell that I've noticed all day.

Peeta nods absently and gives Annie a tight, sad smile. He reaches to the coffee table and turns off the tape recorder. "I don't have anything else, Annie. Do you want me to call Finnick and tell him we're done?"

"No, I'll call him in a few minutes," she replies.

Peeta gathers his papers and returns everything to the manila folder containing my file. He stands, slipping his coat back on and slinging his satchel over his shoulder. "Then I'll be heading out. Thanks for letting me stop by," he tells her sincerely.

Annie stands and walks Peeta to the front door. "It really wasn't so bad," she assures him.

He turns to face Annie and reaches for her hand, giving it a brief, light squeeze. "I'm glad to hear it," he tells her. They exchange goodbyes as Annie opens the front door, Peeta slipping out to head back to his car.

As I watch Peeta drive away, I decide to stay with Annie for a few more minutes, at least until Finnick gets back home. Even though there's nothing I can really do for her, I just feel that I shouldn't leave her alone right now.

I have to admit though, the fact that Peeta didn't even ask Annie about the school incident is a huge weight off my mind. I didn't expect this at all; I just assumed he'd ask her. The only thing I can imagine is that he's trying to protect her, that he doesn't want to risk triggering another breakdown like what happened six years ago.

I knew my instincts about Peeta were right: he's such a _good_ person. He's different from so many of the cynical cops I've seen come through here in the past. I wish I could make my sister see that.

But tonight's about Annie, so I bring my wandering mind back to the present to check on her. She's made her way into the kitchen, and I watch her sink heavily into one of chairs surrounding their small table. Part of me wonders why she didn't mention anything to Peeta about the time I appeared to her in her classroom. Peeta gave her an opening, but she didn't take it. Was she trying to guard against being dismissed as crazy? Or was she trying to protect herself from the memories of the incident?

I suppose it doesn't matter either way; talking about it isn't going to help Peeta solve my case.

For several minutes, I watch Annie as she stares blankly off into the distance, breathing deeply, palms flat on the table. I grow increasingly worried as the seconds tick past - maybe Peeta and I both read her wrong tonight, maybe she's not handling things as well as she's letting on. But what can I do from here?

Annie blinks rapidly, and I see her gaze shift slightly to the right. I follow it and see what she's looking at: the refrigerator, which is covered in pictures that Patrick drew. As she looks at it, a small smile skirts her lips and her face noticeably softens. She lets out a deep breath and I hear a tiny, almost disbelieving-sounding laugh escape her lips. It's almost as if she can't believe she made it through the questioning in one piece.

But she did, and it makes me feel so much better to see her returning to herself. Things might just be okay after all.

* * *

"Do either of you girls want more of the lamb stew?" Effie asks, gesturing towards the generously-filled serving dish in the center of her dining table.

Johanna's not one for manners - she's told me numerous times that she doesn't see the point given that we're all dead and we're not trying to impress anyone. So I'm not surprised to see her unceremoniously push her plate towards the serving dish, indicating to Effie that she's ready for more. I can't help but giggle when I see Effie purse her lips in annoyance.

Once she's served another portion to Johanna, she raises her eyebrows in my direction. I shake my head. "No thanks, Effie," I tell her. "I'm saving room for some of the crème brûlée you promised us for dessert." I rub my hands together gleefully. Growing up poor like I did meant that there were lots of foods that I never got to try when I was alive - crème brûlée being one of them - but now that I'm here, I can't get enough.

Tonight Jo and I were invited to Effie's rowhouse for dinner. I don't know how she finds time to do it - she's probably escorted hundreds of new arrivals over the years - but Effie makes an effort to catch up with all of us periodically, even after we've moved into our own homes. In fact, Effie's got a new girl living here right now, but she's not joining us tonight. "Not up for visitors yet," Effie explained.

Effie stares at Johanna in thinly-veiled horror as she watches her shovel stew into her mouth. After a few moments, Effie forces herself to turn towards me and asks, "What were you telling us earlier, Primrose? About the young man investigating the, um, _unfortunate_ incident that brought you here?"

"Oh, right!" I exclaim, feeling myself perk up. "Well, you know the police haven't been doing much for the past few years." Effie nods sympathetically. "So, the new guy - Peeta - he's actually _investigating_ it again. Not just going through the motions like most of the others."

"She's also hoping the new guy helps her sister finally get laid," Jo adds helpfully, between bites of her food.

My eyes widen in disbelief and my mouth drops open. "Jo!" I exclaim. "That's not - "

Johanna rolls her eyes at me. "You're so pure," she scoffs. "It's exactly what your sister needs, even if you don't realize it."

"I just...I can't..." I sputter helplessly. I don't have any idea how to respond to her. Of course that's not what I'm thinking about!

Thankfully, Effie decides to intervene and steer our conversation back in the right direction. She briefly glares at Jo before turning back to me. "It's lovely to hear that someone's trying to make progress. Has this Peeta found anything yet?"

"Um, not really," I admit. Johanna's eyes meet mine briefly, and I give her a pleading look. I know she's thinking about what she heard when we spied on the station - that the police might not be doing everything they can for my case - but I don't want to discuss it with Effie. Mostly because I still have no idea what's going on.

For once, Jo's able to keep her mouth shut, and I'm able to continue speaking before Effie can ask me any questions. "Peeta's just been talking to people," I explain. "You both remember Annie Cresta?" They nod in response; both of them are aware of what happened between Annie and me at the school. In fact, Jo and I were still living here with Effie when that unpleasantness occurred. "Peeta had to talk to her, and I was _so_ nervous about it. But she made it through okay."

"How do you know that, Primrose? Were you watching?" Effie asks sharply.

"Uh...yes."

"You have to be careful about that," she warns me as she gets up to pace around the dining room. "You know that anyone you contacted in the past is susceptible to having it happen again. I know what happened with Annie was an accident, but you don't want it to recur."

I bite my lip, nodding as I look down at the napkin in my lap. I know she's right - one of the first things she told us after we arrived here was not to try to contact people back on Earth. It's risky and it's nearly impossible to control. No one here even knows how or why it happens, or what kind of connection you have to have with the person to make a successful contact. They just tell us not to even try, so that nothing happens like...well, what happened with Annie.

"I, um..." I start, tapping my fingers nervously on the table. "It happened with Peeta, too," I confess quietly. "Not the exact same thing, but..."

Effie abruptly stops pacing and turns to me. Even Jo raises her head and looks at me with surprise. I sink down in my chair guiltily.

"Is he alright?" Effie asks with concern.

I nod quickly. "He's totally fine," I assure them. "I don't understand it, but he hasn't seemed affected by it at all."

Effie walks around the table to sit in the chair next to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Primrose, I know you understand this, but remember: the effects of a contact aren't always immediate, and we aren't always able to perceive them." She pauses for a moment and sighs. "That's why I tell you girls to _be careful_."

"Effie, drop it," Jo interjects. "She knows. She didn't do it on purpose."

I stay silent. I don't have any reason to doubt what Effie's saying, but...I don't know what I'm supposed to do exactly. How can I sit up here, watching my mom and Katniss slowly wither away, without even _trying_ to help them? It just doesn't seem right.

But at the same time, I don't want to hurt anyone like I did Annie, either. Even unintentionally.

The rest of our meal with Effie proceeds uneventfully. Jo and I make a point of steering clear of any controversial topics and let Effie lead the conversation. She tells us about the new girl staying with her, and we promise to stop by to meet her sometime soon. Once Effie bids us goodbye, we step out into the cool evening air to walk home.

Johanna and I walk in silence until we reach the edge of the neighborhood, where the woods begin. We leave the sidewalk and the sound of our footsteps becomes muffled into the dirt of the path that leads to the meadow.

"Don't let her make you feel guilty, Prim," Johanna tells me suddenly.

"What?" I say, surprised.

"Everyone does it," she continues. "We all try to reach people back on Earth. Even though they tell us not to."

"Oh," I respond thoughtfully. She doesn't add anything more, but a question enters my mind as we continue on the trail to the meadow. I shouldn't ask, but my curiosity gets the better of me. "Um...do you?"

"I used to."

I hesitate. "But not anymore?"

"Nope," she replies flatly.

It's pretty clear that she doesn't want to keep talking about it, but I find myself feeling a little bolder than usual tonight. I guess the worst that can happen is that she tells me to shut up, right?

"Who did you try to talk to?"

It's dark, so I can't see her reaction to my question. I can hear her sigh, though, so I'm surprised that she actually answers me.

"My sisters," Johanna says shortly. As if anticipating my next question, she adds quickly, "I only did it in the beginning, right after I died. And it never worked, so I stopped trying."

I can't help but continue. "Why?" I press her.

"There was no point," she says, shrugging dismissively. The path narrows and Jo moves ahead of me. She keeps talking, but all I can see is her back. "My death...wasn't like yours. They have my body, and they think they know what happened."

"And what was it?" I ask timidly, almost afraid to hear her answer.

Johanna stops abruptly in the middle of the path and quickly looks back at me. I skid to a stop to avoid hitting her. She shakes her head and continues walking forward; I assume her reaction means we're done with the conversation.

So I'm caught off-guard when she speaks up a moment later: "They think I killed myself."

I feel a lump forming in my throat and I swallow to force it down. "Did you?"

"No," she answers forcefully.

We emerge from the woods into the meadow. I look up at the impossibly starry sky overhead. I get the sense that Johanna's told me everything she's going to say for today, but I can't resist trying just one more time. "So, what - " I barely get the words out before Jo stops me with an emphatic shake of her head.

"Sorry, I don't want to keep talking about it," she explains. I nod in understanding.

As we approach my cabin, she finally adds, "I just mentioned it because I don't want you to feel bad about trying to reach Katniss. The people who make 'the rules,'" she says, sarcastically air-quoting the last part, "assume that our families will move on eventually. They're not thinking of people like you, Prim. People whose families have no fucking clue what happened to them."

I open the front door and Johanna follows me inside, as she does most evenings. I turn to her wearily, "I know you're right, Jo. I just don't want to mess anything up."

"You've got to trust your instincts." she tells me.

"But what if I hurt someone, like Peeta or Annie, while I'm trying to help my family?" I say helplessly, dropping onto the sofa in the living room.

Jo flops down next to me. She takes a deep breath and it looks like she's considering how to best respond. Eventually she plunges ahead. "If it were me, I'd do whatever it took to help my family, even if someone else got hurt."

I lean back and stare up at the ceiling. I'm just not sure I feel the same.

* * *

I might as well admit it - despite Effie's warnings, I've still been keeping tabs on Annie.

I've been trying to do it as discreetly as possible, though. Keeping my distance from the edge of the lake, being really quiet…I have no idea if any of this will help, and I'm just making guesses about what might minimize my impact. I understand that it's still risky.

Since Annie was questioned by Peeta, though, I've felt compelled to check in on her now and then to make sure she's _really_ doing okay. I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong, even though I don't know what. Honestly, Annie's been acting fine over the past few days, but I feel unsettled. Like a storm's coming.

But nothing I'm seeing right now suggests anything out of the ordinary. It's early afternoon, and Annie and Patrick are home alone while Finnick's at work. I got here just in time to see a relatively quiet moment in Annie's day - she's just put Patrick down for a nap, and she's curled up in her living room, reading a book.

I smile as I see her eyes starting to droop closed. Spending her days chasing around such a…um…_spirited_ child like Patrick probably leaves her constantly exhausted. I wonder if she's ever considered going back to her old job as a teacher? It might be easier than dealing with her son all day, every day.

She fights to stay awake, closing her book and setting it aside before stretching her arms over her head. For a few minutes, she just stares off into the distance. Or at least, that's what I think at first. Then I realize she's actually looking at something: the large mirror that hangs in the entryway of her house. It's just visible from her seat in the living room.

I can't tell why she's staring at it, though…or why she has such a strange look on her face while she's doing it.

Without thinking, I scoot closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out what Annie's looking at. I get on my hands and knees, narrowing my eyes as I peer into the water. But I don't see anything, or at least, I don't see whatever it is she sees.

I reach forward and drag my hand over the surface of the water, although I have no idea what I'm trying to accomplish by doing that. When the waves settle down and the image becomes clear again, I see that Annie's standing. And walking slowly towards the mirror with an unreadable expression on her face.

She stops directly in front of the mirror and stares, as if she's expecting to see something there. Her hand raises and she lightly drags it over the surface of the glass. She looks like she's waiting.

I peer closely into the mirror. I see Annie's placid face.

I let out a short gasp as I notice what else I see: the clear reflection of my own face.

It's almost as if I'm standing right beside Annie, except that _I know_ I'm not. My eyes are riveted to the mirror - I can't tear them away - but my hands reach for the ground beneath me, to remind me where I am. I grab handfuls of grass. I'm still at the lake.

But I'm also in Annie's house, standing behind her, my face reflected over her right shoulder. Our eyes meet.

Annie smiles.

I freeze. I have no idea what to do, how to get away without causing a scene.

I can't stop thinking that Effie was right. I didn't listen. And now...

I decide to move. It's the only thing I can possibly think of to break the connection. I start to back slowly away from the lake, but something happens. Annie's snapped out of her trance and a look of horror covers her face. I don't think she even realized what she was seeing before.

But she does now. She gasps and whips her head around to try to find me, but I'm not there. This time I'm not in the room with her, but I'm still visible in the mirror when she turns back to it. Her eyes dart back and forth, not understanding. She turns around again and still finds nothing.

And all this time, I'm still there in the mirror. Nothing I do can pull me out. I feel physically rooted to the spot where I'm sitting; I can't move.

Annie rubs her hands roughly over her face, covering her eyes, but she can still see me. Finally, in frustration, she reaches for the wall and rips the mirror down, dropping and shattering it on the floor.

At the sound of the crash, something shifts; the connection is broken. I'm at the lake now, _completely_, no part of me is there with her. Still, I scramble backwards, away from the shore, breathing heavily.

I collapse onto my back and stare at the clouds above me. I can't stop shaking. What just happened?

What did I do?

I lie there for a few moments, chest heaving, silently berating myself for ignoring Effie. But the damage is done. The question is: how bad is it this time?

With only a second of hesitation, I return to the edge of the lake to see if Annie's okay. The broken mirror frame and shattered pieces of glass are littered around the entryway, but Annie's not there. I can hear her eerily calm voice coming from the living room. I follow the sound and see her perched on the sofa, clutching her cell phone to her ear. Even though I can only hear her side of the conversation, it seems obvious that she's talking to Finnick.

"Can you come home?"

She pauses and squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head violently in response to whatever Finnick is saying. "No, right now," she murmurs.

There's another brief silence as she listens to her husband. A look of impatience crosses her face before she speaks up again. "I can't explain, just…_please_."

The contrast between her quiet, mild voice and her frenzied appearance is stark. Thankfully, it appears that she didn't get hurt when the mirror broke - or if she did, I can't see it - but her face looks absolutely distraught. Her free hand is absently yanking clumps of hair out of her formerly neat ponytail, while she rocks back and forth in her seat.

Annie hangs up the phone and immediately drops it to the ground. She slides off the sofa onto her hands and knees and crawls to the nearest corner. When she gets there, she squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears with both hands. She becomes frighteningly motionless.

I quickly check on Patrick, and I'm so grateful to find that he's managed to sleep through all this. With any luck, he can stay asleep and not see what state his mother's in right now.

Less than five minutes after Annie made her phone call, I see Finnick pull into the driveway. He looks mildly alarmed, but not overly so, probably due to Annie's calm demeanor when they spoke. That changes the second he walks in the front door and hears the sound of broken glass crunching under his shoes. His eyes widen in fear.

"Annie!" he bellows frantically, looking side to side for any trace of her. Thankfully he quickly spots her huddled in the corner. He runs to her side and crouches in front of her, reaching gently for her wrists. "Annie," he whispers, "what happened?" She resists his touch, struggling against him to keep her hands on her ears, refusing to open her eyes.

Finnick spies some of Patrick's toys on the carpet near his feet, and this triggers a new wave of fear in him. He leaps to his feet, shouting, "Patrick?" as he runs through the house trying to find his son.

"The bedroom, the bedroom," I chant silently as tears run down my face. "Please don't leave Annie alone."

When Finnick finally throws open the door to Patrick's room, and sees him lying in bed rubbing his eyes blearily, he lets out a sigh of relief. He sits down on the bed and smoothes the hair off of Patrick's forehead. "Hey, little guy. I need you to stay right here in your room for Daddy, okay? You're going to visit Grandma this afternoon, alright?"

Patrick doesn't seem fully awake yet - I'm not even sure he registered what Finnick just said - but Finnick leaves the room quickly to run back to Annie. She hasn't moved an inch from the defensive posture she'd taken before.

Finnick sits on the floor next to her and fumbles in his pocket for his phone. I hear him call an ambulance, then Annie's mom, his eyes never leaving his wife for a second. When he's finished making his calls, he pulls Annie into his lap and rocks her. She never says a word or acknowledges him in any way.

I think I'm going to be sick.

I can't watch anymore - I should never have watched in the first place. I can't stop thinking that I could have prevented this if I'd just listened to Effie. If I'd not let myself complacently believe that everything was fine.

Tears continue streaming down my cheeks as I run back to my cabin, periodically swiping my hands over my face so I can see where I'm going. I slam the front door shut and lock it, leaning against it heavily as I allow myself to sob.

As I sink to my knees on the floor, I make myself promise to leave Annie alone from now on. For real this time.

* * *

**A/N: ****Thanks for your continued support for this story, and please keep telling us what you think**** through your reviews and messages. We really appreciate it!**

**Huge thanks, as always, to sunfishdunes, our beta extraordinaire, and jennagill and desertginger, our super-vigilant pre-readers. We couldn't do this without you!****  
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**I know that this chapter probably doesn't answer all of your questions about Annie's fate, but stay tuned for Chapter 11 for more. It's another Peeta chapter, and it picks up where Chapter 9 left off.**


	11. Chapter 11

"What happened to Annie?" My voice is urgent, but thankfully being on the phone shields Finnick from the fact that all color has drained from my face and my eyes are wide with fear.

"I'll tell you more when you get out here." His voice hiccups, and the words tumble from his lips, "Annie's parents are at home with Patrick, I'm here by myself. My parents are out of the country on vacation and Rye's in meetings all day. Please come down here, I can't handle this alone."

My heart clenches at the desperation in his voice. "Calm down, Finnick. I'm on my way. I promise." We say goodbye and I look over and see Katniss. Her face is shrouded in concern and she tries to keep herself protected from the imminent bad news by crossing her arms over her chest and taking a deep breath before I begin to speak.

"Katniss, I have to go. Something has happened to Annie and Finnick is waiting at the hospital for me. I'm sorry to cut this short but we can finish this the next time you are free."

She surprises me with her response, "I'm coming with you."

I sigh in frustration, every minute I'm here is a another minute Finnick is alone at the hospital. "I'm sorry, Katniss. But I need to go, we can finish up later." I pluck the journal from her hand and try to make my way to the door. She rushes after me, takes the journal back and tosses it on the bed.

"Look, Annie's my friend and I've done a shitty job of being there for her. I need to make it up to her somehow. I'm coming with you." Her voice is stern and leaves no room for argument.

I glance over at the journal, which is now laying partially open on the bed. I consider grabbing it one more time and being done with the situation, but seeing the determination and fear in Katniss's face, I decide to leave it for now and vow to myself to come back for it another time.

I can't waste any more time, "Get your coat on, let's go."

The car ride to the hospital is tense and quiet. Thankfully, like everything else in this sleepy little town, it only takes about five minutes to get there.

The heels of my dress shoes click loudly on the linoleum of the hospital's entrance. It's a sharp contrast from the quick, silent footsteps of Katniss trailing behind me. I realize I have no idea where to go and I glance back at Katniss. She rolls her eyes and nudges her way past me, waving her hand for me to follow.

I follow her down a long corridor until we both stop short when we see Finnick slumped over in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Dreading what happens next, I take a deep breath before sitting next to him and placing my hand on his shoulder. I startle him, but he relaxes when he sees it's just me and scrubs his face with his hands.

There is an awkward silence hanging in the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Katniss shifting her weight back and forth on her legs and rubbing her arms to try and get warm. She's obviously uncomfortable, but I have to remind myself that she wanted to come, so I focus my attention back to my friend. "Finnick, can you tell me what happened? Where's Annie now?"

He takes a deep breath before speaking, trying to compose himself. "I don't really know what happened. She called me at work, and she just didn't sound like herself." He looks up at me, heartbroken. "She was so calm, Peeta. It was unsettling for her to request something so urgently, but her voice was so flat. She just wasn't my Annie on the phone. I made it to the house as soon as I could. When I got there she was in the corner of the living room with her hands over her ears. I couldn't get her to talk to me." His normally vibrant green eyes are pale and glassy as he continues to look up at me, "Peeta, I can't lose her. Patrick can't lose his mom."

I'm about to reassure him that everything will be okay and that Annie will snap out of it; she's just had an episode and things will eventually return to normal. But I don't have time to before Finnick notices Katniss standing next to me. He eyes her curiously and then turns back to me. I should have told him I was bringing her. Actually, I shouldn't have brought her to begin with and I can tell she is going to be trouble for me. My judgement is always clouded when I'm near her. She invades my thoughts and determines my actions. Like right now, I'm at the hospital, trying to be here for my friend, and she is at the forefront of my mind. Her effect over me is worrisome, but I need to think about that later.

Katniss clears her throat, "I'm, um, going to grab some coffee. Can I get some for either one of you?"

Finnick puts his hand up, motioning that he doesn't need any. I shift in my seat to pull my wallet out of my back pocket, so I can give Katniss money to get our drinks. She dismisses me and asks, "How do you take it? Sugar? Cream?"

"Light, no sugar." Glancing back at Finnick, he's reverted back to his original position with his head in his hands. I lean closer to Katniss and whisper in her direction, "Do you mind going ahead and getting one for him, too? He takes his extra cream, extra sugar." If there is one thing I've learned at the station, it's how everyone takes their coffee. If Haymitch were here, he'd take it black with room for Jameson.

"I don't mind. I'll be back in a few minutes." I watch her walk back the way we came in. I was so lost earlier, I didn't even notice if we passed the cafeteria or not.

Finnick surprises me when he speaks, his voice is stern, like when he's reprimanding his son. "Be careful with that."

"With what?"

"With Katniss, that's what. What is she doing here? You're not getting involved with her, are you Peet?"

My jaw drops. Can he really be asking this? "No! Nothing is going on with Katniss. I was going through Prim's room with her when you called. She overheard the conversation and demanded that she come. I didn't really have much of a choice. I'm sorry for bringing her with me. I know the last thing you need is some stranger lurking around, invading your privacy."

"Katniss isn't a stranger," he huffs. "She's one of Annie's oldest friends. And trust me, over the past few years, I've come to know her quite well through our Monday morning chats."

"Oh. I didn't realize she and Annie were that close."

"Not anymore. Annie used to babysit Katniss and Prim when they were younger. Annie would joke that Katniss was more mature than people twice her age. Always so serious. Annie called her an 'old soul.' Whatever the hell that means." He chuckles softly. "But, you know how Annie is, she's always believed in shit like that. Do you know why she stopped being a teacher here and moved to Pittsburgh?"

Actually, thanks to Rye, I do. But, I fake it and shake my head, giving him the go ahead to tell me his version of the story.

"She was Prim's teacher when she went missing." He sighs and shakes his head like he can't believe what he is about to tell me. "She thinks she saw Prim in her classroom after she died, like a fucking ghost. That incident sent her to the hospital the first time. When she got out, she moved to Pittsburgh to live with her cousin, who just happened to live in my building." He chuckles, "I got their mail by accident one day and I was a goner after that. You know the rest; we hardly dated six months before we got married. I didn't think I could ever love anyone or anything as much as I love her."

I smile remembering how we were all shocked when Finnick told us he was getting married after only knowing this girl for a short time. We thought he was crazy, but after seeing them together, no one had a doubt that they were meant to be together. "So Annie was in the hospital before, because she saw Prim after she disappeared? What makes her think that Prim's dead?"

"Come on, man. Everyone knows she's dead. Chances are she died pretty soon after she went missing. Annie might not always be the most grounded person, but she's not stupid."

"I didn't say she was. I'm just trying to understand the situation."

"What's there to understand, Peeta?" He stands up and paces the floor, flailing his arms around while he continues talking. His voice gets louder and louder with each word. "My wife is in the hospital and I'm fucking terrified the doctor is going to come out and say she's insane or she's unfit to be a mother!"

Finnick picks up one of the chairs he is standing next to and throws it across the waiting room, knocking over a side table and causing the other two people in the room to look up from their magazines. They see the crazed man standing in the middle of the room, pick up their stuff and walk out. He's out of breath and his chest is heaving. He turns to look at me and he grabs handfuls of hair, trying to pull himself back to reality. "What do I do? I can't do this without her. I knew I shouldn't have let her do that goddamn interview! It was just bringing all this shit up. I knew this would fucking happen." He starts openly sobbing. "Why did I let you talk me into this? I knew better."

I jump up from my seat and pull him into a tight hug, squeezing as hard as I can. I feel his body shake against me; he needs to let this out. "Finnick, I'm so sorry. I had no idea this could happen."

Looking over Finnick's shoulder, Katniss walks into the room holding a cardboard tray with three cups of coffee and a security guard trailing close behind her. His deep voice bellows, "What the hell is going on in here?"

Finnick pushes me away and wipes his face. "It's okay, Thresh. I just lost my cool. Annie's in with the doctors right now."

The guard is built like an ox and I'm really glad Finnick knows him. I mean, I know we are on the force, but Finnick did begin to destroy a public waiting room. Thresh has every right to call for backup and have Finnick taken in, and I'm not sure either one of us could resist.

"Shit, Finnick. I'm sorry to hear that. I'll block this area off for you. Don't worry about other patients. Good luck with Annie."

Finnick nods, turns away, and begins his pacing of the room again.

Katniss hands me my coffee and walks over to give Finnick his. When he takes it from her a doctor walks into the small room.

"Mr. Odair, could you please come with me? Annie is responsive now, and I'd like to talk with the two of you about her treatment options."

Katniss and I sit down in two of the most uncomfortable plastic chairs ever made. We sit silently and wait for a while avoiding conversation, sipping our coffee, flipping through old magazines, and watching an informative health program entitled _Menopause and Me_, on loop.

I probably should talk to her, ask her about the journal or tell her she doesn't really need to be here and offer her a cab home. But truth is, now that Finnick isn't here, I'm glad she came. I'm not all that comfortable in hospitals, and the part of my brain that I just can't shut off is actually really excited to have her here with me. I steal glances over in her direction, sitting across from me. While she reads her magazine her lips move a little and I can't help but smirk.

I try to swallow, but all of the sudden my mouth has gone dry and I feel anxiety knot in my stomach. Why am I nervous all of a sudden? I've been talking to her all day. It's embarrassing how scratchy my voice is when I speak to her, "Hey, Katniss?"

She looks up from her magazine and finishes the last of her coffee. "Yes?"

"There were just a few more things I wanted to go over with you. Do you think you could meet with me again to go over it? Sometime this week?"

She closes up her magazine and sets it on the table beside her. "Um, I guess. When did you have in mind?"

The apprehension in her face makes me rethink asking her; maybe I was stepping out of line. No use backing out now. "Well, do you have another day off this week? Maybe we could meet up somewhere?"

She pauses for a moment and it's almost like I can see her weighing her options. She slightly tilts her head back and forth before answering. "Well, I'm working doubles all week. Cinna is going out of town and I promised him I'd pick up his shifts. I don't really know when I'd have time."

I nod my head in understanding. I don't want to press the issue, but there are a few more things I want to go over and I really don't want to sit on anything when I've been making such good progress. She speaks up again before I have a chance to try and convince her. "But, if you think it will help Prim's case, I'm sure I can find the time. When were you thinking?"

"Seriously, anytime." Shit, I hope I didn't sound too eager. "What I mean to say is that if you'd like to meet when you get off from work one night or something, I'd be fine with that."

She takes another moment to think. "Sunday night would probably be best. We close earlier on Sundays - I'm usually out of there by 10 or 10:30."

"That'll work, just give me a call when you leave. We could meet up somewhere or you could," I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea that I'm about to say this, "- come over to my house. It's pretty close to The Hob."

The scowl on her face tells me that I'm an ass and overstepped my boundaries. So, I'm completely shocked when she says, "I can do that. I'll call you when I leave work."

I try to remain calm as I respond, "Oh, okay. That would be great." We lock eyes for just a moment. The cool grey of her irises are striking and I know I'm staring, but right now, I couldn't care less. She looks away first and picks her magazine back up and flips through it again, breaking the moment.

I look back over at the television at the far end of the room. The informational program starts over again from the beginning. "I think if I watch this one more time, I'm going to be convinced I have early onset menopause. I already sleep with the windows open because I get hot at night and I've had to pee three times today. I'm starting to get concerned."

Katniss smirks, not taking her eyes off the page of her magazine. "I don't think you have to be concerned until the vaginal dryness sets in."

We look at each other for a moment, as what she just said sinks in, before bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the conversation. The serious Katniss Everdeen is finally letting go and she's beautiful when she laughs.

Unfortunately, our laughter is cut short when we see movement come from the other end of the waiting room; it's Finnick walking back towards us.

If it's possible, the handsome man that I saw earlier this morning, the one always so bright and vibrant, has aged ten years and looks like he's had the life drained from him. Katniss and I both stand up, waiting to greet him and take care of anything he might request.

Finnick clears his throat. His eyes are rimmed red; it's obvious he's been crying. "They're going to move her to the mental health facility this evening. I'm going to go get Patrick to let her parents come up here. I don't want him to see her like this. Not yet."

Katniss steps forward. "I could watch Patrick so her parents can come up here. She used to watch Prim and me, I kind of owe her."

Finnick shakes his head. "Thank you, but no. I just need to be with my son right now. I want to explain to him what is going on. He should know his mother is sick and she won't be home for a while."

"Do you need a ride?" I ask.

"No, I'm okay to drive. Also, Annie wants to see you two." Finnick pulls his jacket on and heads towards the exit. "You'll want to go ahead and go in there, they just gave her more sedatives. She probably won't be able to stay awake for too long. She's in room D-4."

We walk silently through the double doors and check in at the nurses station. A short, round woman in green scrub pants and a cheerily-patterned top walks us to Annie's room.

Annie has always been a petite woman, but in the large hospital bed, she looks like a child. She's curled up on her side and staring out the window. Her long dark hair, usually shiny and curled, is put up in a messy bun on top of her head. Her usual lovely face looks dull and there are dark circles under eyes. I knock on the door frame to get her attention. She turns to face us and a small smile inches across her lips.

Her voice is groggy and she looks very tired. She sits up in the bed while she smooths down her hair. "I'm sorry I look like such a mess and I'm sure I've pretty much ruined your entire day."

Katniss sits down on her bed. She takes Annie's hand, placing both of hers around it. "Annie, you haven't ruined anything. Are you okay?"

The kindness in Annie's soft green eyes reminds me more of the Annie I know. "I saw her, Katniss. I saw her again."

Katniss looks back at me with an eyebrow raised. I know Katniss is confused and I wish I could just blame what Annie is saying on the drugs, or maybe even some kind of stress. But, I know who she means, she thinks she saw Prim.

"Katniss, she was just as beautiful as I remember her," Annie tells her with glassy eyes and slight wistfulness in her voice. "She hasn't aged a day."

Katniss is shaking her head, not wanting the pieces of what she is saying to come together. "Annie, who are you talking about? Who looks the same?"

"Prim, of course. I saw Prim today. She looked lovely. Her hair was in two pigtails, just like she wore it when she was little."

There is a tear running down Katniss's cheek, and I want nothing more than to scoop her up in my arms and try to comfort her. She wipes her cheek before speaking. "Annie, what are you talking about? How could you have seen Prim?"

"She came to me, again." Annie is no longer making eye contact with anyone and it seems like she is looking right through Katniss. The dreamy expression on her face is disquieting.

Katniss is getting more and more agitated. "What are you talking about, again? What does that even mean? You aren't making any sense."

Annie's face turns serious, and the drug-induced haze seems to have instantly vanished and her eyes lock in on Katniss. "Katniss, I'm telling you the truth. Prim came to me before, right after she disappeared. She did it again today. It was the same strange feeling I had in my classroom, like someone was right there. Like someone was watching me. When I looked up, I saw something in the hallway mirror. I walked towards it, thinking maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me. But when I got up to it, I saw her. Prim was standing right behind me. I don't know if she was behind me the whole time or if she was just in the mirror. But I could see her. Somehow, I knew she was there with me."

The tears are flowing freely down Katniss's face. I want to go and comfort them both, but I feel unsettled as well. Is Annie telling the truth? Not that I think she's lying about what she believes, but did Prim really come to her? The feeling she had - that she knew Prim was there with her - It sounds eerily similar to what I experienced at the station the first time I opened Prim's file. I had the same uneasy feeling that I knew someone was standing right behind me. Was it Prim?

_What the hell am I talking about? Get it together, Mellark. You don't believe in shit like this. Everyone gets creeped out from time to time. Don't get pulled in by the ramblings of a mad woman. As much as you love Annie, just remember that she is ill and these are just her hallucinations. They're probably caused by lack of sleep and stress. You need to pull yourself together and be there for her, Finnick, and now Katniss._

The nurse walks back in to let us know that visiting hours are over. We say our goodbyes to Annie and are escorted out of the room.

I take Katniss home and any closeness or camaraderie we shared earlier in the day is gone. Katniss shut down when we left the hospital. She didn't speak to me again, even when I asked her if she still wanted to meet on Sunday. She only gave a slight nod and got out of the car.

* * *

I haven't heard from Katniss all week. She and I are supposed to get together this evening to go over a few more things in Prim's case. I could call her, but I don't want to harp on this if she is still upset after seeing Annie the other day.

Finnick has been out all week taking care of Patrick and visiting Annie. From what he has told me, she seems to be doing really well in the hospital, but it will probably be a few weeks before she is released. My brother Rye is going to be coming in a week or two to visit and he'll be staying with me. I haven't lived under the same roof as him in years. That ought to be interesting when he gets here.

The weather turned a little colder last night, so I wasn't able to go running this morning like I wanted to. I'm currently on my treadmill, trying to make it through the last three minutes of my run on a steep incline. The loud and constant thud of my feet hitting the belt and the whirring noise from the motor make me almost miss the ringing of my cell phone. If my music hadn't stopped, I never would have noticed I had a call coming in.

Katniss's name flashes on the screen and I silently thank her for the excuse to slow down my speed and start cooling down. I think I can live without those last grueling two and a half minutes. When I'm finally able to catch my breath a little I answer, "Hello?"

It's quiet on the other end and all I can hear is my own heavy breathing. I'm sure that's not creepy at all. "Peeta? Are you okay?"

I'm finally able to stop and I hold onto the handrail when I try to speak again, still out of breath. "Yeah… I'm fine. I was just running."

"Oh. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

"No! You didn't interrupt. I was just finishing up. Actually, I should be thanking you. I was really regretting my incline choice."

I could swear I almost hear a little chuckle on her end. "I only have a minute. I'm on break right now. Do you still want me to come over tonight to go over Prim's case?"

I'm wiping the sweat from my face and chest. I really need to turn down the heat in here. "Yeah, if you'd like to. There are a few things I want to go over. I've gotten the okay from Haymitch to canvass the area again and I wanted to talk to you about some things you think might be important to ask."

"Yeah, okay. I'll come by after I get off."

"Sounds good, I'll text you the address."

After I hit send on the text message, I look around my house. This place really needs to be cleaned up.

The evening has gotten away from me. I straightened up the house, took a shower, and um, took care of myself.

I've been a little on edge ever since the realization of Katniss being over at my house hit me. I thought it would help me calm down and relax, but I'm afraid it's just made things worse. Thinking of Katniss walking through the front door and taking her to the bedroom, or the sofa, or the kitchen table, may have done wonders for my libido, but it's made me a little anxious for this evening. The more I see and talk to her, the harder it is to keep this professional.

So, since that hasn't worked, I decided to do my second favorite activity to calm myself down - painting. I took the small sunroom off the kitchen and turned it into a makeshift studio, as the lighting is excellent during the day. It was actually the reason I picked this house. Well, that and that fact that it was available immediately.

I get lost in painting. My mind just becomes so focused on what I'm doing, that I easily lose track of time. If my stomach hadn't growled, I probably would have just kept going until Katniss got here. But after the incessant rumblings, I decide to clean up and make myself something to eat.

Just as I open the door to my embarrassingly empty pantry, there is a knock on my front door. I rush over and take a deep breath before opening it. It's now or never.

I flip on the outside light, not realizing I hadn't turned it on for her before, and open the heavy wood door. A burst of cool air hits me and I see Katniss standing there rubbing her arms and slightly bouncing up and down. It's started to rain, and there are fat raindrops sticking to her hair and eyelashes. It's one of the many times I want to tell her how pretty she looks, but I hold my tongue.

She surprises me and walks into the house before being invited in. I guess I should have already asked her to come in, but I was too busy staring at her like a dumbass. She dusts herself off in my entryway and stomps some mud off her shoes and onto the mat. "Sorry, my truck doesn't have heat and I'm freezing. I had to come in."

"Oh, it's no problem. Here, let me take your jacket." I pull the worn leather coat that is a few sizes too big for her from her shoulders. It's damp and cold from the rain, so I hang it up in the entryway closet to dry.

"I know it's late, but I haven't eaten yet. I was just about to order some Chinese food. Would you like some?"

She hesitates for a moment. "No, it's okay. Go ahead and get yours, though."

"You sure? My treat. I mean, you are at my house, and I would be a pretty terrible host if I ate moderately priced, inauthentic Chinese food in front of you."

"No, really I'm fine." She stubbornly tells me again.

I pick up my phone to call, but then I hear a stomach growl and I know it wasn't mine. I look over at her just in time to see her blush with embarrassment. It's so adorable, I have to laugh. "Well, that settles it. You're splitting my order of broccoli beef and fried rice with me."

She scowls at me now, but I'm pretty sure she'll change her mind once the food gets here.

Before our meal arrives, we go over the questions I'd like to ask the people still living on Capitol Drive. Mostly, it's just the standard things like, "Do you remember seeing this girl? Did you notice anyone suspicious in the neighborhood or around the rec center during the time of the incident? Any strange vehicles?"

But Katniss suggests that she'd like for me to ask if they'd ever met Prim. She thinks that maybe if they knew her, they'd care more and try to help. I can understand her reasoning, but if anyone felt that way, I'm sure they would've already helped the police six years ago.

After I pay the delivery driver we sit down on the sofa and eat. I'm not normally one to brag, but I was right about her changing her mind. She wastes no time clearing her plate. In fact, I'm pretty glad I ordered a couple extra egg rolls, too, or else I probably wouldn't have gotten the one I did.

We both crack open our fortune cookies and are about to compare fortunes when my phone starts to ring. It's after 11 on Sunday night and Haymitch is calling me. Of course. I grab my phone and stand up. "Hey Katniss, I'm just going to grab this real quick, it's my boss. I'll be right back."

She nods her head and stuffs half of her cookie into her mouth and speaks, "No problem."

I step into the kitchen and answer the phone, but can't even get out a "hello" before Haymitch starts in on me, his speech slurred, "It's about time you answered your goddamn phone. It's Sunday night and you have work in the morning, you better not be out."

I sigh, "No sir, I'm at home. May I help you?"

"Not really, but I thought you should know that Snow finally came in for questioning today. Darius said he couldn't get anything from him. He's already got a team of lawyers ready to go if they pursue this any further." He grunts, "Look. Darius really thinks that son of a bitch either did it or has some part of it. I want you to find out what you can on him."

"Darius really thinks that he killed that girl?" Something moves out of the corner of my eye and I see Katniss flop back down on the couch. I furrow my brow and peek into the living room. She doesn't seem to be paying any attention to me and looks pretty into the show she's watching.

I go back to pacing around the kitchen. "Well, I was thinking about canvassing Capitol Drive again for the Everdeen case. I'll make sure to keep an eye on him while I'm in the area."

"Be sure that you do." He slams his phone and it disconnects our call.

I go back into the living room and collapse on the couch. When I prop my feet up on the coffee table, Katniss pulls her knees up to her chest. I flip the channels until we both agree on an episode of Duck Dynasty. Actually, she picked it, I just agreed to stop changing channels.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to Jace talk about pulling a prank on either his brother or uncle - I can't tell them apart - when Katniss turns to me and curls one leg underneath her. "Peeta, can you be honest with me?"

"I don't really think I've lied to you before."

She nods. "Tell me, do you really think asking people these questions six years after Prim went missing is going to accomplish anything?"

"I do." I shift on the couch so I am facing her and mimic the way she is sitting. "I know it seems like a long time has passed, but that's also given these people a long time to deal with their guilt if they knew something and didn't come forward with it sooner. If we get to that right person, us asking them might just be the chance for them to clear their conscience. When a case has been open for this long, that's usually what happens."

She takes in what I just told her. The slight flush on her cheeks makes me wonder if I really do have the heat turned up too high in here. She startles me when she reaches her hand up to my face and wipes at something on my cheek. "You have something green on your face."

I try to swallow, but I can't seem to move my throat. "I was painting earlier, I thought I had cleaned that off."

Her hand lingers on my face and I can't help but lean into her touch. Unconsciously, I move closer to her. I can't be misreading this, I know she can feel what I feel in this moment. She opens her mouth slightly and I'm close enough the feel the warmth of her soft, pink lips against my skin. Just as our lips are about to touch there is a loud bang on the television and some member of the Duck Dynasty family hooting about shooting something.

Motherfucker.

Both of us are pulled from the moment in a flurry of cursing by me and Katniss jumping off the couch, slipping on her shoes.

"I have to go!" She exclaims, frantically searching for her car keys and rushing to the coat closet in the entryway.

I sit on the couch in a stupor until I realize what is going on. I jump up and follow her to the door.

"Katniss, you don't have to go."

She swings open the door, almost hitting me with it in the process, while simultaneously putting on her jacket. "Thank you for dinner and all your work on Prim's case. I'll talk to you later."

She slams the door shut behind her, leaving me to bang my forehead against the door while listening to her truck rumble to life after her trying to start it a few times. I can't believe what I almost let happen. I am such an idiot.

I walk over to the television and turn it off, both thanking it and hating it more than anything I ever have in my life. I take the remnants of our dinner and toss them in the sink, not caring if I break a plate or not and go back to my bedroom to try and get some sleep.

I'm running through the woods and into a large, open meadow. It's not nighttime, but all I can see is a cloudy void ahead of me. I know it's cold, but I can't feel it. I have no idea where I am, but yet I know exactly where I am going.

My heart is pounding loudly in my ears and I feel this enormous weight against my chest, making my breathing even more difficult. I don't know what I'm running from, but the despair and fear I feel brings a tear to my eye. I've never felt anything like it before. I look up and see that I am following a young girl with blonde hair flowing behind her. I beg for her to slow down to ask her what we are running from, but she doesn't stop. She doesn't even look back. I do my best to keep up with her, but I feel the weight on my chest keep pulling me back. It's no use; she disappears into the void before me and I'm being yanked back by the very thing I've been running from. I scream out and thrash, but it won't stop.

I wake, sitting upright in my bed, sweat dripping down my chest even though I see the curtains blowing in the breeze from my open window. My throat is sore from screaming and I can't catch my breath. I've had this dream before. They just recently started coming to me since I moved here. I sink back into the bed, trying to fall back asleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see that girl running. In the back of my mind, I know who it is, but I refuse to believe it. The feeling I get from this dream is too familiar, like I know the person so well, but I never met Prim. How can I feel this way?

The clock on my nightstand reads a little past 4 o'clock. I know I'm not going to be able to go back to sleep now, so I get up and stumble my way down the hall to my studio and do what I have done since I was little.

I paint the bad dreams away.

* * *

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	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Katniss**

Lady trots along the sidewalk at the end of her leash, her nails scraping rhythmically on the concrete, stopping to sniff a fence post here, a bush there. The rain we've been having for the past few days has wiped away most of the snow, and the spring thaw has uncovered a whole bunch of new smells for her to investigate.

As time consuming as it is, having to squeeze daily walks in with my already busy schedule, I can't find it in myself to begrudge Lady this simple pleasure. I didn't want a dog, had never even thought about owning one, but after Dad died I would've done anything to cheer Prim up, and the fat, happy little puppy that jumped at us when we went to the shelter was exactly what the doctor ordered. Even I had to admit that she was damn cute, her tail wagging so hard that her whole body wiggled with excitement, and I couldn't help but laugh when Prim picked her up and she excitedly painted Prim's face with her saliva.

It was good for Prim to have some responsibility, and as much as I hated to admit it, Lady brought us both joy. Housetraining her was a pain in my ass - especially because it definitely became a pain in _my_ ass, when Prim wouldn't get up to let her out in the middle of the night - and we had to add dog food and vet visits and toys to our list of expenses, but it was worth the smile on Prim's face.

And now, I don't know what I'd do without the stupid mutt. She's brought me so much comfort in the years since Prim disappeared, comfort in the ease of routine taking her for her daily walks and feeding her, and in the warm weight of her at the end of my bed, her cold wet nose pushing under my arm when I wake screaming from dreams of Prim and blood and death. Lady never looks at me with pity, never bugs me with stupid questions or judgements on how I choose to live my life in order to keep Mom and me above water. She just loves, and she's always there when I need her, and I'm grateful for it. She's the only thing in the world that I can let myself need anymore, since Prim disappeared.

Besides the newly revealed smells that Lady is enjoying, this walk is special for another reason. Today we're walking a different route than usual, against my better judgement, and I'm glad to have the dog walking as an excuse.

Today we're walking Capitol Drive.

I know this is a bad idea, and I know that if Haymitch or Finnick found out I was interfering in police business, they could shut down the case. They've kept it open this long, but who knows what could be the last straw. Not to mention that Peeta might get in trouble for letting me overhear that there was some connection to a murder victim and a resident of this street. I wasn't even supposed to be at Peeta's house, let alone overhear that particular conversation.

I shouldn't be here. I should just let Peeta and the other cops do their job; I want to trust Peeta, and I know that he wants to help. But none of the cops who have been on her case since her disappearance have been able to do any good, and I'm tired of just sitting back and waiting for the police to figure things out. I can't trust that the cops will follow through on this lead properly, but maybe I can find something on my own.

I'm awed by the sheer size of the houses that line this street, and the impossibly manicured lawns, even though the snow only just melted away. Flowers are already being cultivated, and the high, tall windows are already sparkling clean. I remind myself that people like those who live here have the money to pay regular people like me to do just about anything they could want.

I feel a stab of jealousy as I imagine how easy it must be to live in such privilege, never having to take an extra shift at work or choose between getting my hair cut or fixing the broken screen door. While I'm wondering where I'll get the money to keep Dad's old truck running, these people have the luxury of dwelling on petty things like a garden and how nice their houses look from the street. I think of our dilapidated old house that has fallen into disrepair since Dad passed, kept up only by my questionable skills and Gale's help.

Gale. I'm filled with guilt when I remember the things that I said to him, how I left things with the best friend I've ever had. Even though the thought of giving Prim's old bike to anyone, even Posy, still fills me with pain and dread and anger, I make a mental note to call him later and try to make things better. He might be an ass but he's still my best and only friend, and beggars can't be choosers.

But then again, maybe Gale isn't my only friend now. There was that _thing _that happened the other night at Peeta's, a thing that I don't want to name because I'm afraid of what it might mean. I haven't let myself feel anything for anyone or anything for so long, and the weight of my interactions with Peeta presses heavy in my belly any time I think about it. I'm pretty sure there was a moment while we were sitting together on the couch, before we were interrupted… a moment when we almost kissed.

That's the other reason I'm out snooping around Capitol Drive today: I don't want to spend any more time dwelling on that moment because I think I might _want _to be kissed by Peeta. And that thought terrifies me.

I'm startled out of my reverie when Lady gives an almighty tug on her leash and lunges forward, yanking the leash from my hand and leaving an unpleasant burn behind. "Lady, no!" I shout, but it's too late, she's tearing down the sidewalk away from me. I feel a stab of fear and glance up and down the street, and a rush of relief when I see that the street is empty of vehicles.

Lady takes a sharp corner into one of the immaculate yards and I groan in dismay. "Lady, come!" I try, but she's hell bent on whatever she saw, and I hope it's not one of these millionaire's fat, spoiled cat she's after. I don't want to have to explain to these uptight assholes that dogs are going to do what dogs do, and one of those things is chase strange cats.

I round the corner after her, and no, it's not a cat, but if possible, it's actually worse. She's got her nose to the ground and her paws are flying, kicking up a spray of dirt into the air behind her as she starts an impressive hole at the base of one of the bushes in the yard.

"Shit! Lady, no!" I shout and lunge forward to grab the end of her leash and drag her back away from the bush. She struggles against the leash, whining and flinging little bits of grass left and right as she scrambles to get back to the bush, and I don't let myself stop pulling until she's safely on the driveway where she can't do any more damage.

And it's then that I look back and see what she was digging in so furiously and my blood runs cold and my heart jumps painfully in my chest.

A primrose bush.

It has to be a coincidence, right? Some weird, fucked up coincidence. But it's not like evening primroses are a common plant for a stuck-up suburban neighborhood garden; there are tons of fancier plants that would grace this property better. And why would Lady be so intent on digging in this particular bush, of all the plants in this well-stocked garden?

Well-stocked is actually almost an understatement; it's a botanist's dream, really. There are roses of almost every imaginable species, not just the common ones, and they've been cultivated with the utmost care. And over there, a few paces away from the primroses, aren't those the spade shaped leaves of a nightlock plant? They're extremely rare and deadly poisonous and I've only seen them in textbooks; I'd almost be tempted to get down on my knees and have a closer look at it if I wasn't already freaked out and standing with a crazed dog in some stranger's yard.

"Can I help you?"

I look up with a shock, and stare directly into the eyes of an elderly man. A man who could be an off-duty Santa Claus, if Santa wore gardening gloves and carried around half transplanted strawberry plants. I guess not all the swanky residents of Panem's richest neighborhood hire their gardeners.

His eyes behind a set of thin framed glasses are flat as they flicker between Lady, still scrabbling on the concrete, and the primrose bush she'd been digging in.

"Uh, I'm so sorry, sir. If she damaged your plant, I'd be happy to repay-"

He cuts me off with a raised hand, shaking his head. "Not to worry, my dear girl. It doesn't look like there's much damage." He turns back to me, and his mouth curls into what I suppose is meant to be a kind smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. A feeling of cold washes over me and I suppress a shiver, despite the warm spring air.

"Really, I feel terrible, Mr…."

"Snow," he supplies. "And you are?"

I'm unnerved by his blank stare, and I answer without thinking. "Katniss. Katniss Everdeen." I twist my hand to loop Lady's leash around it again, pulling her in closer to me. "I'd really like to pay you for the-" I swallow hard- "primroses, Mr. Snow."

He tilts his head, that cold, empty smile playing around his lips as he studies me. "I'm impressed that you know so much about flowers, Ms. Everdeen. But that's really not necessary, I assure you."

Suddenly Lady barks, and I jump, staring down at her incredulously. She's normally such a quiet dog. A tremor runs up the leash in my hand as Lady begins to growl in one long, unbroken string, and she's not straining towards the primroses anymore. Her hackles are up and she's staring at the man in front of us, who looks down at her with a calm, almost curious expression that gives me the fucking creeps.

He looks back up at me, and his eyes are pale blue and blank as he shifts the strawberry plant in his hands, and even though he never stops smiling, I take an involuntary step back.

"Just try and keep your dog in hand for next time, please," he says mildly.

I nod back jerkily in agreement, my whole body tense as he stares back at me, his eyes boring into mine in a silent standoff. Lady is still watching him, and even though she's not making any sound that I can hear, I still feel the vibration of her silent growls traveling down the taut line of the leash.

I'm the one that breaks first. "C'mon Lady," I say shakily, my voice strange in my own ears. I force myself into motion, dragging the dog down Snow's driveway, feeling his cold eyes watching me every step of the way. I want nothing more than to be as far away from that place as possible.

My dog is not aggressive. She doesn't just growl at random strangers; sure, she'll give you a sniff or two, but she's more likely to give you a lick than to bite you, even if she doesn't know you. My stomach twists as I remember the last time she acted like this - six years ago, on the day my sister disappeared from me forever.

I can't get out of this fucking neighborhood fast enough. By the time Lady gives up and stops fighting me, I'm walking so fast that I'm nearly jogging down the street. My stomach is unsettled and I feel the bile in the back of my throat, like I could throw up at any minute, and that'd be just what I need right now: to puke all over one of these pristine yards.

What could this mean? Surely my dog hating the man and a primrose bush in his garden doesn't mean anything? But that's two really crazy coincidences, plus the feeling that I can't shake that there is something really, really wrong with him. He looks like a good natured grandfather but there was something there, in the depths of his eyes…

The moment I turn the corner out of Capitol Drive, back into the real world, I breathe a sigh of relief, finally letting my feet slow down. I glance over my shoulder twitchily, as if expecting to see someone following me, but of course, there's no one there.

I need to see Peeta. I wasn't supposed to be on that street snooping and I don't know if he'll be angry at me for going off on my own but he needs to know; I need to tell him about what just happened.

I drag my phone out of my back pocket, scroll through the contacts until I find Peeta's name and type out a text. **_Where are you? Can I come over?_**I hit send and keep walking towards home, the phone clutched in my hand as I wait anxiously for his reply.

It's not long before the phone vibrates against my palm. It's Peeta: **_At the hospital, visiting Annie. I'll call you later, okay?_**

My stomach drops. I really need to talk to him, and home alone is the last place I want to be. I don't have to work for several more hours, and my mind is just going to go crazy if I give it the opportunity.

I let Lady lead me and just walk aimlessly until I end up outside of the Hawthornes' house. Gale answers the door and stares down at me, his face expressionless, before opening the door wider and moving aside, gesturing for me to come in.

He grabs Lady's collar on her way through and lets her off the leash; she's as welcome here as I am. "Fancy seeing you here," he says gruffly to me, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall of the entryway.

I take a deep breath, my hands fisting at my sides. "Look Gale, I'm sorry about what I said last time I was here."

His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. "What, Katniss, apologizing? I don't think you've ever admitted to being wrong in your life." His tone is mockingly incredulous and I have to resist the urge to punch him in the face.

I settle for glaring up at him. "I'm not wrong, I'm just sorry I got so mad at you."

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes, then pushes off from the wall, wandering into the kitchen. I take that as forgiveness and follow him. Neither of us makes any mention of the bicycle.

"So what are you doing here? Don't you have to work today?"

I nod. "I work at four, but I didn't want to go home and hang around with my mom today." I think about telling Gale what I heard Peeta say about Capitol Drive the other day, and about my own freaky experience this morning, but decide against it. That's between Peeta and me. Gale would just call me crazy.

I don't know why I feel like Peeta would be understanding where Gale would think I was out of my mind, but for some reason, I do.

Gale nods his understanding, reaching into the fridge to pull out two bottles of Bud, handing one to me before twisting the top off of his.

Turns out Gale is home alone looking after Posy, and somehow we both get roped into sitting on the couch with her, watching some dumb chick flick. Posy sits between us with Lady curled up at her feet, and I know I'm forgiven when Gale shoots me a look over her head at a particularly cheesy line delivered by the guy in the movie and we stifle our laughs together for Posy's sake.

Midway through the movie, my phone vibrates against my hip and my heart thumps in my chest when I see that it's Peeta on the line. "Be right back," I whisper to Gale (Posy doesn't even look away from the tv) and I slip out of the family room into the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi Katniss. It's Peeta." His voice is warm, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks.

"Hey Peeta," I answer, and I can't help my own smile as I lean back against the kitchen counter, crossing my legs at the ankles.

"Sorry about earlier, I was at the hospital, and I wanted to call you then but I thought it might be rude-"

I shake my head, even though he can't see. "Don't worry about it, Peeta. How's Annie doing?"

He sighs. "Not great, but a little better than she was. The doctors and Finnick are hoping that she can go back home soon, but it'll be a while longer before she can take care of Patrick on her own."

I hesitate. "Um, give her a hug from me, when you see her next, okay?"

"I will," he answers warmly. "So, I'm free now, did you want to meet up?" He pauses, then offers, "You could come to my house again, if you wanted."

My stomach does a weird flip flop, and I find myself wishing that I didn't have to work tonight. "I can't, I have to work at four." I try to ignore the disappointment that rushes through me, force down the sudden unreasonable desire to call in sick and get someone to take my shift so I can go to Peeta's tonight.

"Oh, that's okay. Can I come see you at work?"

It's Saturday and even though Cinna is back from his trip, the bar will no doubt be busy and we'll need all hands on deck, and logic says that tonight might not be the best night. I _should _ask him to meet me another time so I can focus on my job, but instead, I find myself saying, "Sure, I'd like that," and my heart thumps happily in my chest.

"Great! I'll come in after dinner. I could use a drink."

"Okay. I'll see you tonight?" I'm stalling. For some reason, I don't want to hang up, want to keep Peeta on the line as long as possible.

"Definitely. Bye, Katniss."

"Bye Peeta." I pull the phone away from my ear and hit the end call button, sliding it back into my pocket.

I turn to go back into the living room and find myself face to face with Gale, who is leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face.

"What?" I ask defensively, glaring at him.

"Who was that?" he asks casually, feigning nonchalance as he studies the nails on his left hand.

"Nobody," I retort, scuffing my foot against the floor awkwardly.

He cocks one eyebrow, dropping his hand and turning his attention to stare at me. "Really, Katniss? Because I thought I heard you call him Peeta. Isn't that the cop who's working on Prim's case?"

"Maybe. So what?" I ask, scowling across the room at him.

A slow smile spreads across his face. "You like this guy, don't you?"

I stare defiantly into his eyes, ignoring the flush that rises in my cheeks. "I do not."

"Yes, you do!" he looks altogether too triumphant, as if he's just won a prize, and I want to stride across the room and kick him in the shin, wipe that stupid look off his stupid face. Instead, I ignore him, spinning around under the pretense of getting a glass of water.

"I think it's great," he continues as I pull a glass from the cupboard and run the tap, testing it with my finger until it's cold. "How long has it been since you got laid? Months? _Years_? It might be good for you. Loosen you up a little bit."

"Shut up, man-whore," I grumble at the sink, because there's no way I'm turning around and letting Gale see how red my face is right now.

He laughs and claps me on the shoulder, making me jump; I hadn't realized he'd come up behind me. "Come back in and watch the rest of the movie once you've untwisted your panties. Maybe you can pick up some flirting tips for tonight." He dodges the swat I aim in his direction, leaving me to chug the glass of water in an attempt to cool myself down.

* * *

As I had thought, the bar is crazy that night. I'm run off my feet, helping out behind the bar, waiting and bussing tables, with barely a moment to stand still, let alone sit down. But even so, I can't keep myself from glancing up every time the door opens, my heart leaping in my chest, and then dropping disappointedly every time it's not Peeta coming through the doors.

I'm standing at the bar, waiting for Cinna to pour my drink order (a rum and coke, two Buds and a gin and tonic) when a familiar voice behind me makes me jump.

"Hi Katniss."

I turn, and look straight into a pair of bright blue eyes, eyes I'd recognize anywhere, even in the dim light of the bar. Even though I've been watching the door like a hawk waiting for him to arrive he still managed to surprise me. "Hi Peeta."

I realize that I'm smiling, and he's smiling too, his eyes roaming over my face. "How are you?" he asks.

"Good. Really busy tonight. I um," I feel my face heat and I'm glad for the low lighting that will hide my blush, "I saved you a booth in the back. It's not a great table, it's kind of squished in the corner, but at least you'll have somewhere to sit."

He grins. "That's great, Katniss, thank you."

"Um, sure," I mutter. "Just let me serve these drinks and I'll show you to it. Yuengling, right?"

He nods, and I turn back to the bar. "Hey Cinna, grab me a Yuengling, too, please?"

Cinna passes me the drinks for the order I was waiting for, and when I get back from serving them, he winks, reaching back into the fridge for Peeta's beer. For some reason, Cinna's wink makes me flush, even though his winks are far from infrequent. When I turn back to Peeta, he's got a half-smile on his face which, for some reason, makes me blush even more.

"Um, this way," I mutter, not meeting Peeta's eyes. He follows close behind me as I push my way through the crowd, a solid presence at my back. I can feel his eyes on me and I fight the not altogether unpleasant shiver that threatens to run down my spine.

We reach the corner and I gesture awkwardly. "This is it," I say, snatching the 'Reserved' placard off of the table. "Sorry, like I said it's the crappiest booth in the house but it's really busy and –"

Peeta's hand on my arm stops me and his touch is like electricity on my skin, and I feel a warmth spread through my lower abdomen at his touch. "It's great, Katniss, thank you. I'm just happy to have a table I can sit at. Maybe I'll do some sketching to pass the time." He draws his notebook from the messenger bag he's carrying and waves it with a grin as if to demonstrate. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay," I say and he releases my arm, the spot where his hand had rested lingeringly warm. "I, uh," I glance up at the bar where Cinna is waving at me frantically, "I better get back to work. I'll try and take a break soon and come talk to you, okay?"

He smiles warmly. "Okay, I'll be here. Don't work too hard."

The hours that follow seem to tick by with agonizing slowness. I find myself glancing at my dad's watch every few minutes, rushing around the crowded bar and wishing that it would slow down so I can take my break. The whole time, as I run back and forth in the room from table to table and to the bar and back, I'm hyper aware of Peeta's presence, always wondering if he's watching me, if he's bored, if he's drawing in his sketchpad and if so, what.

As I deposit a tray of drinks at a table of rowdy men from the construction company ("Eighteen fifty, please," I say), I glance up and see that Peeta is not alone. There's a woman standing next to the booth, her hands braced on the table-top as she leans in towards him. She's got the kind of body you see in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit editions, or maybe the Victoria's Secret ads, and her hair is that kind of ridiculously long, artfully arranged, wavy style that always makes me wonder how it doesn't get caught in everything, but somehow it looks effortless on her. I think regretfully of my slim hips and practical braid and feel a stab of envy, and I can't help but notice that she and Peeta match, all beautiful profiles and blonde hair and winning smiles.

I accept the money for the drinks I'd just delivered, not noticing if there's a tip in there or if they even gave me enough. Before I can think twice about it, I'm depositing my tray on the bar and grabbing two fresh bottles of Yuengling out of the cooler and shouting to Cinna over the din, "I'm taking my break!" and marching away before he can even open his mouth to reply.

The girl's working it for everything she's got, but I feel a fierce satisfaction when I realize that Peeta's face is polite but aloof. I notice that he's shoved his sketchbook under his bag, and I wonder if he had stopped before she arrived or if he put it away to keep his sketches private.

"Hi Peeta," I say brazenly, sliding into the booth next to him. "Sorry for leaving you alone for so long."

His eyes dart over to me and he grins, flashing those perfect teeth and forcing a spread of warmth through my body. The blond stares at me incredulously, looking down her perfect button nose as if I'm not fit to wipe her ridiculously high heels on.

Peeta looks up at her and says politely, "It was nice talking to you," and then gives me his full attention, leaning in towards me. It's a clear dismissal, and my answering smile might be a little smug. _That's right, bitch. He's here to see me._

I remember too late that Peeta is not my boyfriend, he's not my _anything_, but the girl is already gone and Peeta laughs good naturedly.

"Great timing, Katniss," he says, taking a swig of the fresh beer I slide in front of him. "Some people just don't understand when you say 'I'm waiting for someone'."

I smile around the mouth of my own beer bottle, raising it to take a sip. "You looked a little like a cornered rabbit," I say, wiping my lips with the pad of my thumb. His eyes follow the motion, my stomach clenching around a warm heat that's started to build there.

"C'mon, a rabbit? I've got to at least be a puppy or a kitten, something with claws!" He demonstrates by curling his fingers like talons and mock snarling at me.

I burst out laughing. "Hey, rabbits might be cute and cuddly but they have claws, too. And they bite. Especially when cornered." I take another swig of my beer.

He cocks one blond eyebrow, his eyes twinkling in the muted light hanging above our heads. "Why Katniss, did you just call me cute and cuddly?" He winks.

I almost choke on my beer and I hope that the darkness in the room hides my flush. I'm sure I look like a beet by now. "I didn't – I mean, I don't –"

"It's okay Katniss, I'm just teasing you." He laughs in that way that he has, the one where I can tell he's laughing at himself, and not at anyone else. "So," he continues, "you had something you wanted to talk to me about today?"

My mind goes blank for a moment and then if possible, my face gets even hotter. I'd totally forgotten the reason that I asked him here in the first place, as if this was some kind of _date_ and not a meeting so I could tell him things that might be relevant to the case. _My missing sister's_ case. All this time I'd been trying to convince myself that I only wanted to spend time with Peeta because of Prim, because he's working on her case and for some reason he's been able to earn my trust. And now, I'm flooded with guilt when I realize that I haven't thought about Prim or her case all evening; I've been too busy thinking about Peeta and watching the clock tick by so that I could sit and talk with him, and not about the case.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I duck my head, unable to meet Peeta's eyes, hoping desperately that he can't see my flush of shame. I don't let myself worry that he might be angry, and just blurt out: "Yes. I uh… I went walking on Capitol Drive today."

Silence. I chance a glimpse up at Peeta and he's frozen, eyes wide and staring and locked on my face.

"Peeta?" I ask hesitantly.

He gives his head a little shake and a small smile quirks his lip, but the worry still shows plainly in his eyes. "Sorry. What were you doing on Capitol Drive?"

My stomach flips. "Please don't be mad okay? I just… I heard you talking when I was at your house the other day and you said something about a murder and Capitol Drive and-" I pause, taking in a deep breath- "I thought I'd check it out myself."

Peeta's brow furrows, a little line forming across his forehead. "Katniss, you shouldn't be going off on your own." He scrubs his hand through his hair with a sigh. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have let you overhear that in the first place. And you shouldn't be going there on your own. If there _is _some connection there, and I'm not saying there is, you could be putting yourself in danger."

"I know that, Peeta, alright?" my voice is terse and I know it's not fair, given that I already know I shouldn't have been on Capitol Drive today. "I just had to see for myself. Are you going to let me finish the rest of my story?"

He waves his hand, signalling that I should continue, but the tension in his face doesn't ease. I explain to him about Lady breaking away from me and running into that man's yard, and what she was digging in.

"A primrose bush, Peeta. A primrose. How did my _dog_ know it was there? It's too freaky to be coincidence, don't you think?"

He eyes me doubtfully. "I don't know, Katniss. It's weird, sure, but a plant with the same name as your sister isn't exactly evidence."

I roll my eyes. "I know that, but Peeta, you weren't there. This guy gave me the fucking creeps. I can't explain it, but there was nothing warm about him at all. He smiled, but it was all on the surface." I hesitate, picking at the label on the beer bottle before forging on in a rush. "Lady hated him, Peeta. _Hated_ him, and Lady doesn't hate anybody. The last time she acted that weird was the day Prim disappeared."

I let my eyes flick up to meet Peeta's and his are kind when he hears the catch in my voice as I stumble over Prim's name. He stretches a hand across the table, moving slowly like I'm a wild animal he's trying not to scare off, extending his index finger until it trails along the back of my hand. It's at once comforting and electrifying, and I feel a shiver building at the base of my neck that has nothing at all to do with cold. He drags his finger back and forth a few times against my skin before letting it drop to the table, and I can't help my disappointment when he breaks the contact.

"It's just too much," I insist around the lump in my throat. "Capitol Drive, primroses, and Lady? How can that be a coincidence, Peeta? How?"

"Where was this?" he asks, skirting my question and slipping into cop-mode, pulling out a small notebook from his jacket pocket. "Do you remember the address? Did you get a name?"

I nod succinctly. "It was 28 Capitol Drive. I got a good look when I was trying to keep Lady from ripping up his yard. And he said his name was Snow."

Peeta's whole body tenses as if for a blow, his pen poised above the paper but not descending. "What? What did I say?" I demand. "Is there something about that house? Peeta, _what do you know?_"

"No, nothing," he says hastily, shaking his head, and I see his body relax as he forces calm back into his limbs and scribbles something I can't see on his little notepad. Finally he looks back up at me and nods. "I can't promise anything, but I'll do some digging, alright?" I sigh, feeling the tension drain out of me at his words, but he holds up a hand to stop me before I interrupt him.

"I'll do some digging," he repeats, "but promise me that you'll stay away from that man and Capitol Drive in the meantime, okay?"

My eyes narrow as I glare at him across the table, feeling my face flush again, but with anger this time. "Why, because you think I can't take care of myself?" I spit at him. "You think I'm in the way, like all the other officers do?"

He shakes his head, reaching out a hand to placate me. This time his entire hand falls over mine and I jump before my fingers settle beneath his. In spite of my anger, I feel warmth radiating through Peeta's hand into mine, spreading through my body and settling low in the pit of my stomach as his eyes meet mine.

"Katniss, you know I don't think that at all," he says, his voice low. "You're tougher than anyone else I know. I just want you to be careful, okay? Give me a chance to look into this and do things the proper way."

His thumb skates over my knuckles and my traitor heart jumps in my chest. I'm forcefully reminded of our _almost _kiss from Sunday night, when I was sure he was going to kiss me and I was sure I wanted him to. My eyes drop to his lips in time to see his tongue slide out to moisten them, and the heat in my belly swells. My body is leaning into him behind the table and he's leaning towards me and his hand tightens over mine -

"Katniss!"

We both jump, startled by Cinna's voice. He's making his way across the room to us, and he stops when he sees how we're angled towards each other, how our hands are overlapping on the tabletop. A wicked grin bursts on to his lips as he continues his approach and I hurriedly withdraw my hand from under Peeta's, tucking it securely under the table with its mate.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting," Cinna drawls, casting me a sidelong glance, eyes twinkling deviously. "But break's over, honey. We're swamped here and we need your help."

I grab ahold of the out Cinna offers, even though really, an out is the last thing I want. What I want is for Peeta to kiss me, and the depth of that realization frightens me, so I run.

"Thanks for coming, Peeta," I say, unable to meet his eyes as I swipe our empty bottles up, already moving to follow Cinna back to the bar. "Sorry I have to leave."

"Don't worry about it," he answers, but I think I hear a note of regret in his voice. He stands too.

"Oh, don't think you have to leave just because I'm going back to work," I protest. "Stay and have another beer."

He catches my hand in his and I look up to meet his gaze. His lip twitches. "Nah, it's okay, I've had enough for tonight, and I've held the table for too long." He presses a bill into my hand, ignoring my protests. "Besides," he adds, "if I stay here while you're busy working, who's going to protect my poor helpless bunny rabbit self from unwanted advances?"

A huff of laughter escapes me before I can stop it, and I feel the rest of it bubbling inside my chest, threatening to burst. "I'll see you soon?" I ask without meaning to.

Peeta squeezes my hand and smiles, before dropping it and turning away from me towards the exit. "Count on it."

When I make it back to the bar, Cinna is watching me from under his gold lined eyelids, a smug smile on his face. I snatch up a rag and a tray, ignoring Cinna's pointed stare until I can't anymore and I turn to him and bark "What?"

If possible, he grins even wider. "Girl, you are so far gone on that boy."

"Shut up Cinna," I grumble, turning away from him to hide my blush, and for the first time, I can't even pretend to deny it.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in posting for this chapter but I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and subscribing! We read and appreciate every single review. **

**I want to say a special thank-you on behalf of myself and my co-authors to sunfishdunes, our beta for the first eleven chapters of this work. Unfortunately she is unable to continue as our beta going forward but we are all so grateful for her hard work and want to thank her profusely for all the time and care she spent on this really daunting project. I speak for all of us when I say thank you SO MUCH, sunfish! It was wonderful working with you.**

**I also want to thank jennagill who stepped up to fill sunfishdunes' big beta shoes for this chapter and the ones to follow. You're awesome and we're all really looking forward to working with you as our beta.**

**And last but most certainly not least, thanks as always to desertginger for her pre-reader expertise!**

**Come say hi to us on tumblr; I'm madefrommemoriesff and my co-authors are soamazinghere and loveforpanem.**


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